


Macabre

by Blunette (Hoshikuzu_san)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, BAMF Draco, Draco Malfoy is a Little Shit, Kinky, M/M, Marking, Mates, Mutual toxicity, Possessiveness, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-07-05 06:05:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 28,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15857745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hoshikuzu_san/pseuds/Blunette
Summary: Draco has been friends with Harry since they were little. They had a falling out over a misunderstanding, and Draco isnotover it. Being the vengeful little shit he is, he kind of accidentally ruins Harry's life. But, it's okay! Harry ruins his too! They're terrible for each other -- Draco can't figure out why Harry keeps coming back. Until he does.





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Summary kind of sucks because this story is... all over the place, haha. But! Those seem to be the ones people like most, so I hope you stick around till the end anyway!

Ever since Draco had gotten his license, Dudley had been bumming rides off of him to skip having to catch the schoolbus. Draco didn’t mind. They were best friends, after all, and he enjoyed Dudley’s poor singing to every song on the radio, even that early in the morning.

But then, one afternoon in December, Dudley had called him, frantic, asking him to pick up his kid brother — they were cousins, really, but one wouldn’t be able to tell with how close they were — from the middle school. He’d gotten detention and no one was home to get him; it was snowing, was the excuse Dudley had used, though they both knew it was because Dudley’s parents despised the green-eyed child.

Draco, of course, had accepted. He didn’t really know Harry, but from the few times he’d been over — for obvious reasons, Dudley preferred not to bring guests to meet his parents — he’d been perturbed. Harry liked to stare at him, like he was some bizarre creature the child couldn’t quite grasp, and had barely spoken a word to him in the five years Draco had been friends with Dudley. It wasn’t for lack of trying — at the baseball games Dudley had guilted Draco into attending, Draco sat by Harry. He would make offhanded comments about the game, joking and teasing Dudley for even liking the sport, but Harry just sat quietly, smiling faintly, occasionally watching the game, but mostly watching Draco.

Draco had pulled into the snowy bus loop outside the middle school, windshield wipers working furiously to give him what little visibility they could manage — which wasn’t much. He wondered whether he should go in to try and find the boy, until he spotted a dark figure hunched on the snowy bus curb, collecting snowflakes.

For a terrifying moment, he’d thought it was something dead. Then, shaggy hair shifted and Draco could just barely make out familiar glasses through the haze of snow.

He’d rolled down the window, incredulous. “Harry?” he’d called, shocked. “What the _fuck_ are you doing out here in this goddamn _snow_? Get in this fucking car!” he’d bellowed, and Harry needed no further incentive to stand shakily, brush himself off, and clamber into the passenger seat.

Draco had been _livid_.

When Harry strapped in, he was wet, and shivering, and Draco had muttered a slew of colorful expletives before yanking off his sweater and tossing it at the boy, who’d looked back at him, surprised.

“I’ve been wearing that shit all day, so it should be warm,” he had promised as he cranked up the heat in his car. Then, he was peeling out of the bus loop and onto the connected street, making his way back towards their neighborhood. “What the hell were you doing out in the snow?” he crowed again, just angry. “Are you trying to get yourself sick?”

When he received no answer, Draco turned frustrated eyes on Harry, only to find the boy huddled, knees pulled up beneath the sweater, nose buried in the material. Harry looked serene — blissful, even, as he shyly pushed his arms through the sleeves and tugged it further over his nose, inhaling deeply.

Draco guessed the kid liked the smell of his cologne — though it couldn’t be very strong. He only spritzed it, and that had been nearly ten hours ago — but didn’t let his question drop.

“Harry?” he’d prompted.

“They don’t like me,” he whispered back, large green eyes blinking at Draco beneath his thick glasses. The boy’s eyelashes were long to a nearly ridiculous degree.

“Who doesn’t?” Draco had asked, glancing in his side mirror before flicking on his left blinker and making the turn. The car skid a bit, and Draco forced himself to calm down, to drive more carefully. They weren’t in an all out storm, but it was a damn near thing.

“Everyone,” Harry snorted, and Draco was shocked by the cynicism. “Teachers, other kids, my _parents_.”

“Do they hurt you?” Draco asked sharply. He’d never ask Dudey something like that, because, of course, Dudley loved his parents, but Harry...

Harry hadn’t answered, turning to look out the window instead.

“If they do,” Draco warned, voice dark, “you know I’m right down the street, right? You can come over whenever, Harry, if... if they’re scaring you.”

Harry had stared at him then, shocked.

“I can?”

“Of course,” Draco replied, a tad defensive. “We’re friends, aren’t we?” he’d asked, because he and Dudley were friends, and Harry was practically Dudley’s brother, and he and Harry had ‘spoken’ a couple times, so they might as well be considered so, in a very slight sense. And, even if they _weren’t_ friends — it wasn’t as though Draco would turn away someone in need, and he hoped Harry at least knew _that_.

But Harry looked delightfully surprised, if anything, and that made Draco feel bitter in itself. Harry looked _surprised_.

“Yes,” Harry had whispered, practically breathed the word, and Draco felt himself grudgingly smile. Harry must have felt ecstatic then, to finally have someone other than family (read: Dudley) call himself his friend, assuming Harry hadn’t been exaggerating when he'd said everyone at his school hated him.

“And you’ve got a phone, haven’t you?” Draco continued on griping, anyway, because he’d been worried, dammit. He told Harry this. “Surely you have my number — Dudley must have given it to you for emergencies. Just call me, goddammit, Harry! I was fucking worried, seeing you out in that snow. I thought you were some dead animal!”

Harry was smiling that soft smile again, looking at him like he’d hung the moon. “I promise,” he whispered, and Draco harrumphed, satisfied.

“You’d damned better.”

And Harry had, occasionally, called to be picked up. But, he more frequently just schlepped over to Draco’s house to stay the night in the spare bed Draco had in his room. Usually, Draco just kept laundry he was too lazy to put away on the twin-sized bed, but since Harry had been sleeping over more often — he was even starting to grow on Draco’s _parents_ which, considering he and Dudley had been friends for half a decade and they _still_ didn’t trust him, meant a lot — he’d taken to actually putting his laundry away on time; keeping it clear and the sheets made and tucked and ready for use whenever Harry popped over.

After he’d entered high school, Harry wasn’t around too often due to his sudden interest in football, and he was almost always at the gym, lifting weights or whatever else Draco wheezed from only thinking about. But, when he did come over, he always showered, borrowed a pair of Draco’s too-long (but not wide enough, apparently, damn those shoulders he’d developed) pajamas, and inevitably stayed the night.

It was somewhere in this timeframe that he’d told Draco, sitting in the far end of the bleachers as they both pretended to be interested in Dudley hovering at the base he was covering — in the speckled shade, leaning together, whispering about his cousin with good-natured jabs — that he was gay. Draco had been surprised, and hadn’t the faintest idea where the admission had come from, but had nodded, told Harry it made sense since he’d always been weirdly meticulous about his hygiene (that had earned him a slap), and that was that.

He still slept over at least once a week, still texted all the time, and nothing changed, except they’d become closer. Sometimes when Harry came over, he said it was because ‘his’ parents were drinking, but sometimes it was for homework help, or just because Dudley was annoying him. Eventually, he and Harry grew as close as he and Dudley were, and Harry started feeling to him like the younger sibling Draco had always wanted.

He made the grave mistake of telling Harry that, once. They’d been nestled together on his couch, beneath a blanket, watching scary movies late into the night instead of trick-or-treating like that overgrown baby Dudley was doing. Harry kept accidentally brushing his hand in the popcorn bowl, and soon after, Draco said The Thing He Shouldn't've.

Harry had reacted horribly, like being Draco’s little brother was the worst possible thing he could think of, and Draco had gotten suitably offended as one of his close friends reeled back at him, face warped into a grimace.

“I fucking _hope_ not,” Harry had said, forcing a laugh. “I don’t think of you as a, a _brother_ , at _all_ ! But we’re still _close_ , yeah?”

Draco’s mouth had fallen into a grim line as he watched the television, mind not processing what he was seeing at all, only what he was hearing. _Close, but not brother-blood-_ ** _bond_** _close,_ he’d thought sourly.

And they'd gone to the same community college, but they’d kind of drifted apart by then. Draco had made a point to always be too busy to hang out with Harry now that he was in _college_ , and by the time Draco was becoming a Junior and Harry showed up as a Freshman, they barely spoke. But they did speak occasionally; partially because, with distance, it hurt a little less and Draco admittedly missed Harry and his quirky sense of humor, and also partly because it was hard to avoid Harry when he and Dudley still spent so much time together.

They didn’t go to the same college — Dudley having wanted to go somewhere further away so he could live in a dorm away from home — but his college wasn’t _too_ far. Draco and him still met up every weekend, and sometimes Dudley would bring Harry, because he knew that him leaving had only made it harder on his kid brother. And they all watched movies together, or went out to eat. Sometimes Dudley ditched him to spent the weekend with Harry, but sometimes he also ditched Harry to hang out with Draco.

Dudley didn’t know why they were suddenly so distant, but they acted civil to each other, so when Draco told him they just didn’t have that much in common anymore, Dudley believed it. They’d just grown apart, Draco had said, and Dudley had nodded in understanding.

“You’re so focused on your studies, and Harry’s just a gym rat now. It’s all football and protein shakes for that one.”

“You sound bitter,” Draco had noted. He wondered if Dudley was trying to say Harry’s grades were dropping, but wouldn’t ask.

Dudley released a long ass groan and whined, “I’ve been doing baseball for _seven years_ , and then this kid does football for _four_ and suddenly he’s getting jacked while I’m all...” He prodded at his stomach.

Dudley wasn’t overweight for his height, but still seemed a little chubby in his torso. He was very toned everywhere else — his tummy was simply where he held most of his fat. He was sensitive about it, but always played it off as a joke when he brought it up. Draco laughed along, not wanting to bring up his friend’s vulnerabilities, but he did consciously make an effort to remind Dudley — in organic conversation of course, Draco wasn’t _obvious_ about it — that he found Dudley very attractive and impressive.

“Yeah, well you do both. You’re just so driven,” Draco said, resting his chin in his palm. “Isn’t it exhausting? Working so much harder than everyone else all the time? Christ, I can’t even imagine playing a serious sport _and_ studying for hours a night. You’re like a killer combo, you bastard. How the fuck am I gonna compete with that?”

Dudley slurped at his soda to try and hide his flush. “Shut up,” he said, but Draco could tell he appreciated it.

Then Harry had strode in, dumped his gym bag on the floor, and dumped his sweaty ass in the last chair.

They were fortunate Dudley’s roommate was rarely home. Or maybe he made a habit of never being around on the weekends _because_ Dudley had them over so much? Draco didn’t really care, he decided. What he cared about was the fact that Harry somehow looked really cool, despite the sweat stains and odor and being all of a measly high school senior. Draco was a sophomore in _college_ , dammit, and he knew for a fact that Harry had more sex appeal than he did.

“Want something to drink?” Dudley offered his cousin.

Harry peered at said offered beverage before returning to his previous position of looking for all intents and purposes like he was ready to up and die. He was so dramatic sometimes.

“I can’t drink soda,” he whined. “No sugar, no carbs.”

“Sugar _is_ a carb,” Draco said.

Harry put his hands over his face. “Don’t remind me.”

“You work so hard though; don’t you deserve a little cheat?” Dudley asked. Draco noticed that Dudley wasn’t drinking his soda anymore, but didn’t act like he’d noticed.

“I don’t want to win by _cheating_ ,” Harry had hissed, finally getting up. He went to the fridge and grabbed a water, pulling up the hem of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face.

Both he and Dudley pretended not to notice his abs.

“You just seem so... mad, these days.”

“Of course he’s mad,” Draco couldn’t resist piping in, “he’s also in a caloric deficit, isn’t he? He’s bloody _hungry_ all the time.”

“ _All the time_ ,” Harry agreed, sounding forlorn. He wilted dramatically against the fridge.

“It’s paying off though,” Dudley told him. “Isn’t it, Draco?”

Draco was surprised and, for some reason, embarrassed to have to answer that question. “Sure it is,” Draco agreed easily, because Harry didn’t matter to him anymore, and he had to exude that, “but you’re not looking so bad either.” He winked.

“You’re kind of a flirt, you know that?” Dudley asked, looking a little suspicious. “You sure you’re not gay?”

“You can still suck dick in a caloric deficit,” Draco said, just to say it, and was rewarded handsomely by Harry slamming the fridge shut in shock and Dudley choking on his own spit. “I was just kidding, Jesus,” he sniggered.

Dudley shook his head, smirking himself. “You know, Harry made a similar joke to me the other day, except it was — what was it? Oh yeah-”

“Dudley,” Harry groaned.

“No, no, it was funny! I’d called Harry an ass, and he told me, ‘Well, you are what you eat, right?’” Dudley cackled, and Draco was annoyed to find himself laughing a bit as well. “You two are like the same person,” Dudley went on to say, “I’m still surprised you don’t get along as well as you used to.”

Draco shrugged, taking Dudley’s soda and sipping at it, just for something to do.

“Hey, my drink!” Dudley complained, swiping it back and exaggeratedly wiping the straw off. Which was fortunate, or he would have seen Harry’s peeved expression and the way he stormed from the room. So he was still mad when it was brought up, was he?

Madder than Draco, apparently. At first, Draco hadn’t noticed Harry avoiding him, until he did, and it pissed him off even more. He hadn’t said a _damn_ thing when Harry had confessed to being gay, but Draco so much as confesses to thinking they were close, and Harry has a problem? Not only that, but it’s been _three years_ , and he’s still not over it?

He never came over anymore, and Draco’s laundry piled up. For three years it had been.

Draco gave Harry a _real_ reason to hate him in his freshman year.

When Harry had gotten his first girlfriend, all awkward and pink-faced, he had chosen wisely. Even in college, the high school football captain and cheerleading captain were still recognized as such, and were therefore the star couple of the whole damn college in _freshmen-goddamn-year_. It was like they were famous or something, even the seniors were expressing interest.

Harry wasn’t ugly, and never had been — sure, he’d been a little scrawny up until the beginnings of high school, but towards the end he’d definitely grown into himself. The commitment to the gym and sports only helped. Even then, however, the female population had never really shown him the time of day, likely because they still considered him the scraggly weirdo from elementary school. In college, however, he was only known for _not_ being a scrawny kid, and in fact being very desirably proportioned for a freshman. And, he had a hot girlfriend, which just made him all the more appealing. All the guys wanted to be his friend, and all the girls wanted to be his.

Harry had chosen the best possible girl to date. Draco wasn’t sure if he was still gay — if that was something that could even change — but even if he was only fake-dating her to keep up a straight-guy image, he’d chosen wisely. _No one_ was doubting him now.

But then, Draco had to open his big mouth.

They were passing each other in the hall, Harry uncharacteristically without his entourage, and Draco waiting for his own group of friends — much smaller than Harry’s, but at least Draco knew all his friends’ last names.

Draco was content to pretend they didn’t know each other, as they had been doing while on campus since the beginning of the year. But, since they were alone, it seemed Harry was willing to break that little silent agreement.

“Oh, hi,” he said.

Draco looked at him silently for a couple seconds, just long enough for Harry to understand that this was unwanted conversation, and just a little longer so Harry would begin to shift on his feet and open his mouth to say something else, and _then_ Draco replied, “Hey.”

“Are you waiting for someone?”

“Are _you_?” Draco shot back, annoyed. What, so Harry was only willing to talk to him when he was alone? Was he going to sprint away when Draco’s friends arrived, or something? Now that he was finally popular, he couldn’t afford to be seen with Draco? Or was it still some residual resentment from being compared to the little brother Draco had always imagined.

“Um, no,” Harry replied awkwardly, seeming to pick up on Draco’s ire. “H-how are you?” He scratched at the back of his head, ducking it a bit as he stared at their shoes. “I haven’t seen you around much.”

“Dudley’s got his own girlfriend now, so I’m trying to give him some space,” Draco allowed himself to share. “I thought you’d be happy you don’t have to see me anymore.” And, shit, he hadn’t meant to blurt that last part — now Harry knew that he was thinking about him.

Harry looked angry. “Why are you always blaming _me_? I’m not the one who made us this way.”

Draco was surprised by the vehemence, but daren’t show it. “I like it better this way, so I guess I just thought you would, too,” Draco lied. He wanted Harry to hurt. Wanted Harry to feel guilty, because as far as Draco was concerned, it _was_ him who made them this way. If he was so insulted by Draco saying he valued him as even more than a friend — Dudley would have been _thrilled_ if Draco said he thought of him as a brother — then Draco didn’t want to keep him around, knowing the whole time that Harry only wanted to be _kind of_ close friends. In a twisted way, it was like asking to date someone, only for them to want to remain friends with boyfriend _privileges;_ they just didn’t want to be _exclusive_. It was a waste of time and energy, putting so much work into someone only for them to not like you as much as you like them.

Harry was fuming, fists tight and jaw clenched. He looked beautiful, kind of, which made Draco even more upset. Why did this piece of shit get to grow into someone so gorgeous, while Draco had to work for his beauty? Draco had to style his hair and moisturize his skin and dress for his figure, while Harry just rolled out of bed, told people he just wanted to be friends, and looked like _that_.

Well, that wasn’t completely fair. He did dedicate all of his free time to sports and the gym, but still. He was an asshole. He didn’t deserve to be hot. He didn’t deserve all the girls liking him, all the girls should be into _Draco_.

“Draco!”

He looked over to see his friends, Pansy, Astoria, and Theodore finally arrived at the entrance of the library. All of the kids in chemistry were at the library now, as their lecture room was in the building right across the street. They looked at Harry subtly.

“Go back to your girlfriend, Potter,” Draco said, wrapping an arm around Pansy. She squeezed his side in response, knowing he wanted her support, just not why. But she didn’t ask — she knew he had to keep up pretenses sometimes, and he liked that about her. “I don’t want to discuss your commitment issues anymore.”

That had been his mistake.

He hadn’t expected a rumor to sprout because of it, a rumor that Harry had been cheating. This lead to the star-couple’s breakup, and suddenly, all kinds of rumors were flying about “that pretty green-eyed-jock-who-was-too-good-to-be-true, had to be cheating still, or abusive, or an asshole, or _gay_ ,” and Draco had no idea what to do to stop the rumors — if he even could, and if that was his place as either an ex-best-friend or even the one who had kickstarted the whole thing. He didn’t know _what_ to do as Harry closed in on himself, never smiling, quitting the team.

Dudley had stopped talking to him then, and Draco hadn’t questioned him. He wasn’t sure what Harry had told him, or if Dudley had come to his own conclusions, but either way, Draco felt miserable. He had done this.

Harry’s best friend, Cedric Diggory, had abandoned him when rumors started about Harry and Cho Chang, which was the issue, in Draco’s opinion, of having all your friends only connected to you through one person. Diggory was actually Chang’s ex, and though they said they didn’t have feelings for each other anymore, they were still close. So, when Cho heard the rumors and actually _believed_ them, of course Diggory believed her over Harry. It was all so ridiculous and far-fetched to Draco, as if they were looking for an excuse to drop Harry or something, because Harry didn’t _cheat_ like that. He might be an ass who didn’t like to get close to people, but he valued his friends and his relationships. He was incredibly committed, as long as both parties agreed on the level of their relationship, for him and Draco’s situation.

And then Diggory spilled that Harry was gay. Apparently, in an attempt to keep his only ‘real’ friend, Harry had told Diggory in hopes he would understand — he was still figuring himself out, but he hadn’t even gone that far with Cho. Who could he have cheated with? In which Diggory only became enraged further because not only had Cho been with a _fag_ , but Harry had been _using_ her.

Harry was alone, and ostracized, and _furious,_ judging by the looks he’d send Draco whenever they passed in the halls.

Draco didn't know what to think. To a degree, he'd single-handedly ruined Harry’s entire life, but also, it was Harry’s own fault for dating a girl who didn't even know him well enough to know he never lied, not ever. Or to befriend a bloke who would betray him like that, a bloke who Draco felt a treacherous sort of delight for, considering he so perfectly juxtaposed Draco's own fantastic friendship. Surely Harry, by now, was realizing he couldn't get any better than Draco, that he'd been a dick to have said what he did, that Halloween.

Harry had hurt his feelings.

Draco had _ruined his life_.

To distract himself, Draco had finally asked out Pansy, the girl he’d been crushing on for years, and she’d said yes, and there they were.

He hadn’t known Harry had been there, that he’d been walking by the entryway to the courtyard just as Pansy squealed and threw her arms around him. He’d hugged her back, grinning brilliantly, until he saw a flash of movement from the corner of his eye. The heel of Harry’s unmistakeable ratty trainers as the boy sprinted down the hallway, judging by the sound of rapid footfalls and a few startled, “Hey!”s that echoed from the doorway.

When Pansy had asked him what was wrong, what he was looking at, he’d smiled, cupped her face, and told her it was nothing.

Because it was. Harry didn’t want to be his close-as-brothers best friend, but then got angry when Draco didn’t tell him about his plans to date Pansy? As though Harry had opened up to him like a friend would about his supposed plan to date Cho Chang to put skeptics off his back. Draco might have — he didn’t know — _helped_ , perhaps, even though they’d been enemies by then, but Harry was still important to him, always would be, and he might have put aside his vindictive nature to help Harry with his heterosexual charade.

Harry had no reason to feel left out because Draco hadn’t opened up to him, no matter how inexplicably guilty Draco felt afterwards. Rather, it wasn’t inexplicable — he felt bad because he couldn’t stop thinking, _Haven’t I hurt Harry enough?_

* * *

**Present**

* * *

Draco drove home, frustrated, because he hadn't been able to make out with Pansy without picturing angry green eyes and freckle-dusted tan skin, so he'd called the night to a close early, which in turn made _Pansy_ upset with him.

He turned into his driveway to find Harry Potter sitting on his porch step, eyeing his car with an unreadable expression on his face.

Draco shut off the engine and just watched him, and Harry watched him back.

Draco was, admittedly, scared. Harry may be nine-bloody-teen, and a mere freshmen (practically still a high schooler), but he hadn't been football captain _in_ high school for nothing. He was powerful, and a big guy, and he could do a goddamn tackle when he needed to.

Draco wasn't _weak_ , but he was more slender and tall than intimidating-Harry-Potter and tall. He was lanky, really, but he had a pretty face, so he was allowed to use the word _slender._ And even then, Harry wasn't as tall as he was, yet Draco had no trouble admitting to himself that Harry could probably break Draco’s jaw before breaking a sweat.

Eventually, Draco stepped from the car, aiming for casual, and shut the door behind himself with a little more effort than necessary. His keys jingled as he shoved them into his jacket pocket — bloody Harry was still without a coat, even in autumn — and leaves crunched underfoot as he trekked his way towards his door, towards Harry.

He stopped before the brunette, and Harry just stared at him.

“I'm sorry,” Draco blurted.

Harry blinked at him, apathetic, and suddenly Draco felt everything bubbling up.

“I didn't mean to start the rumors, I only said that thing about commitment to hurt your feelings because you'd hurt mine. I didn't think... didn't know things would escalate to this.”

When Harry continued to watch him, Draco wondered if that wasn't what he'd wanted him to apologize for.

“I'm sorry you had to date Cho Chang just to feel comfortable in your own skin,” he blurted, genuine, “and I'm sorry she didn't know you enough to know you would never cheat on anyone, even someone you don't love.”

Silence.

“And I'm sorry Cedric Diggory is a piece of shit, and that you wasted your time trusting his sketchy ass. No one worth their salt backstabs a friend after they're no longer friends. You told him your sexuality in confidence, and I'm sorry the whole schools knows now.”

Harry glanced at his shoes, and suddenly he was the middle-schooler sitting on the curb in the snow because he didn't think he deserved any better, and Draco couldn't help the wistful pang in his chest at the memory of that sweet, innocent child.

All fear left him as those unsure green eyes met his.

He knelt down before Harry who, knowing him, had probably walked all the way over just to come and sit on Draco’s doorstep — with no intention of starting anything unless Draco did, until Draco spoke first.

“But, for the record,” he mumbled, because he didn't need to speak any louder with them this close, “I think you inspired some other guys to come out of the closet, so, you know, there's _something_ good that came out of this. Kind of.”

“I love you,” Harry said.

Draco stared at him, baffled. “What?”

Harry leaned forward, pressing their mouths together, and Draco started so quickly he nearly fell on his ass as he scrambled away from Harry, the back of his right hand pressed firmly to his recently-violated lips.

“ _What_?” he repeated, shocked.

“I've loved you since the day I saw you,” Harry said, voice barely a whisper, barely there at all, and his eyes were sad. “It's only gotten worse. I can't be your brother, Draco, not when I need you so much.”

Draco didn't know how to react, what to think. Part of him was disgusted by the thought of Harry _wanting_ him like _that_ , and another part felt pleasure at the fact that Harry hadn't rejected him because he hadn't _liked_ him, Harry had rejected him because he liked him _too much_ . It wasn’t that _Harry_ hadn’t wanted to commit to being as close as Draco wanted, it was that _Draco_ hadn’t wanted to commit to being as close as _Harry_ wanted.

“I hate you so much I could kill you, but I love you even more,” Harry said, voice calm, and that rattled Draco—the serenity in those familiar, cold eyes as spoke those words so genuinely, it was terrifying.

Harry suddenly got a hunted look about him. “You know that, don't you? That I'd do anything for you?”

Draco took a step back, unsure and wary, and Harry stood.

Harry’s posture was tense, his shoulders hunched forward as thumbs hooked in his pockets.

“What do you want?” Draco finally asked.

“You owe me,” Harry announced.

Draco pursed his lips, because he knew he did — he owed Harry his entire life back — but didn't like being _told_ he owed something, especially not from Harry when he was acting so bizarre.

“Owe you what?” Draco asked slowly.

Harry bit his lip, brows furrowing as he looked at Draco. “Let me mark you.”

Draco raised his eyebrows, momentarily dumbfounded. “What?”

“That's it,” Harry promised, words tumbling out with scarcely a breath between them in his haste to get them out of his mouth. “Then we’re even, I promise, just let me mark you-”

“What?” Draco asked again, shocked. “Mark, how? You want to, what, give me a hickey?” he asked, flabbergasted. That was the only explanation after Harry had just _confessed his love_ , but it didn't make much sense, even then.

Harry made an odd whimpering noise, like a dog. “Yes,” he breathed, “just one, Draco. Please, just let me do this, just this one thing. Please.”

Draco wasn't sure what else he could say. He'd ruined Harry’s life, and Harry told him he loved him and wanted to suck his neck. What else _could_ he say?

Well, he could say no, he supposed, but a small part of him wanted to relieve himself of the guilt, was thankful Harry had sought him out after so long so he could apologize, and they could get this settled. This situation was bizarre, but Harry was making it so simple. It would be easier to agree, for both their sakes.

He nodded, uncertain, and Harry approached him like one would a spooked animal.

He huddled Draco against the hood of his car and breathed against Draco’s neck.

“Can I...?” he asked, hands hovering by Draco’s side, and Draco bit his lip, nodding a bit.

Harry put his hands very lightly on Draco’s hips, tugged Draco very slightly towards himself, and then he shoved his nose in Draco’s neck and inhaled grandly.

Draco shivered, and Harry made a noise before dabbing his tongue out and licking the skin.

“You taste fantastic,” Harry said, sounding awed.

“Get on with it. Fuck,” Draco blurted, because he knew he was red in the face and terribly uncomfortable and unsure about all of this. This was... weird. The longer it went on, the more time Draco had to reflect and realize that this was probably not normal. Harry was gay, not some creepo — he didn’t usually act like this. Or was it that he’d always been like this, he just never showed Draco?

Harry placed his lips on Draco’s pulse, holding them there, waiting, before he spread them, hot breath searing Draco’s neck, and bit down. Hard.

Draco cried out, attempting to jerk away, but Harry followed the movement, mouth firmly attached. He withdrew what felt like insanely sharp teeth and lapped at the blood drawn in response before sucking harshly, and Draco yelped again.

He settled after the sucking began to numb out, and jerked abruptly when Harry released the skin with a _pop!_ noise.

Harry stayed hovering near him, breathing against Draco’s ruddy skin, hands gently, gently, resting over Draco’s hip bones.

“Harry?” Draco asked, perturbed.

Harry turned his head slightly, and his soft hair tickled Draco’s cheek as he did so, his breath brushing over the shell of Draco’s ear.

“I want to throw you up against this car and fuck you,” he said, and Draco stiffened in his hold.

Draco tried to step away, but Harry’s feather-soft grip suddenly tightened, and he pressed himself against Draco firmly. He was shorter than Draco by a good few inches, but when he pressed Draco further against the hood, when he looked at him like _that_ , Harry could have been ten feet tall.

“I want to turn you around and eat you out,” he continued, moaning a bit, hips snapping forward, and Draco was horrified.

“Oh, my God,” he garbled out, disoriented, and shoved at Harry’s chest. “Fuck, get off. Harry, get _off_ ,” he snarled, shoved, and Harry stepped away calmly, as though he hadn't felt any of it.

His eyes looked golden and piercing, savage in the light of the setting sun.

He didn't say anything before shoving his hands back in his pockets and stalking off down the road, supposedly back towards his house, but Draco didn't react, didn’t do anything regarding the abrupt turn Harry’s attitude had taken.

Draco, uncomfortable and scared and feeling justly violated, sprinted up to his house and checked thrice that he’d locked the door behind himself before finally trekking up to his room, where he proceeded to shut the window blinds before stripping and hopping in the shower. A cold one.


	2. 2

“What’s up with you?” Pansy asked, annoyed. This seemed to be her default setting nowadays.

Draco sighed, putting down his phone. “Nothing. Why?”

Pansy stared at him, eyes narrow. “You’ve been distracted. For the past  _ week _ . Did you want to come over today or not? You could have just said-”

“I’m just tired,” Draco cut her off, smiling weakly. In part to prove he was, indeed, exhausted — it was hard to sleep. Some nights he could swear he heard pacing outside his home, heard the trees whispering his name in the wind — and to halt one of her tangents before it truly started. Pansy didn’t like his attention to be divided when he was with her, she wanted all of it. And she deserved all of it — she was his girlfriend, after all. He just... didn’t feel like giving it.

Lately, only one person had been occupying his mind.

Draco wondered vaguely, hysterically, if this was all some ploy for Harry to ruin Draco’s life in return. Make Draco think Harry liked him, then have Draco break up with Pansy because Draco liked Harry, and then have Harry turn around and say he never loved Draco in the first place.

Not that Draco was in love with the gay bastard, but with all his wandering attention lately — and, admittedly, his dreams — one might not be so sure.

Pansy pouted at him. “Wanna fool around?” she asked.

One of the many things Draco liked about Pansy is that she didn’t put much value in sex. It was like a sport, to her. They were partners in this game, so she wouldn’t go elsewhere and nor would he, but she didn't romanticize it, didn’t make it feel like their relationship without sex would be dull. She was interesting, and fun, and he usually found her very enticing, but lately, with Harry and his bizarre proclamations...

“No,” he admitted, which was a first for him, and thought she played it off with a shrug, he knew she’d been thinking the same thing.

“Wanna go home?” she asked him.

Draco sighed again. “Honestly? Yeah. I don’t feel like either of us are getting enough of my attention right now.”

Pansy smiled at him wryly. “So where is all of your attention, exactly?”

Draco reclined against her headboard, running a hand through his hair. “Everywhere and nowhere. I’ll think about the same things over and over, but I never reach a conclusion, nor am I even aware that I’m thinking of them, most times. My mind just... wanders.”

“Maybe you should talk about it.”

Draco shook his head, standing and grabbing his bookbag. “No, I just need to sort things out on my own.”

“Draco...”

“Pans, honestly. I’ll figure it out.”

Pansy seemed dubious, but kissed him goodbye — though it turned into more of a makeout session towards the end, neither made any moves to take it further — and didn’t text him after he left.

Déjà vu overcame the blond as he pulled into his driveway only to find his parents’ cars gone, and Harry seated on his doorstep.

Draco, if possible, was more wary than the first time this had happened as he exited his vehicle and made his way towards the steps.

It was dark, nearing eight o’clock, and the orange haze from his porchlight brought out the auburn highlights in Harry’s dark hair.

“What are you doing here?” Draco asked, as it seemed Harry was content to sit there in silence, watching him.

“Waiting for you.”

“Why?”

“Your parents were on their way to the theatre,” Harry said, finally standing up. He stuck his hands in his pockets. “They were... happy to see me. Said it’d been a while.”

Draco picked at his nails, a painful attempt at playing nonchalant to hide his humiliation.

“You didn’t tell them,” Harry said.

“I didn’t know  _ what  _ to tell them,” Draco growled, dropping the act. “You were the most prominent person in my life for  _ years _ , and suddenly you never came around anymore. I told them you were busy. Never mentioned you again. I thought they took the hint.”

“Apparently they were still holding out on me,” Harry said, voice casual, and Draco didn’t like that. His cocksure attitude. As though he still knew  _ anything  _ about Draco or his family.

“They were probably being polite,” Draco sneered, eyes narrowing to couple with his sarcastic smile. “Didn’t want to make a scene. You weren’t worth delaying their date.”

“Your mom looked happy,” Harry said, shrugging and glancing away, and Draco was angry. Angry, because Harry knew when his mother was happy, she smiled, and she rarely smiled at those she didn’t love dearly, and Harry must’ve known this, which is why he mentioned it. Angry, because the old Harry would’ve ducked his head just then, Draco knew it. He would’ve ducked his head, nervous, instead of glancing away as though unaffected, as though he was above all of this.

“Why are you here?” Draco repeated, furious, raising his lip in a snarl.

“Don’t flash your teeth at me, Draco,” Harry said, sighing as though tired before he approached the blond, who immediately began to back up towards his car.

“Stay the fuck away from me, Harry-”

“Look, we need to talk,” the brunette cut him off, eyes seeming eerily luminescent in the darkness.

“I don’t owe you another fucking thing,” Draco hissed, eyes flashing. “Back up. I mean it.”

Harry did not retreat, but he did stop his advance. Raising his arms in surrender, Harry leveled him with a grave expression — somewhat of a grimace, really. “Okay, just... there are dangers... and you need to be careful.”

Draco’s eyes widened with incredulity. “Are you  _ threatening  _ me?”

“What?” Harry reeled back as if slapped. “No! No, I just — There’s so much you don’t know-”

“So now I’m a  _ moron _ ? Get out of my goddamn way, Potter, I swear to God-” Draco didn’t know why he was intentionally taking everything the wrong way. He wanted a reason to get angry, to yell, to push Harry away.

“Will you just  _ listen to me _ !” Harry yelled, grabbing Draco’s arm to haul him forward, and suddenly he was up in Draco’s face, chest heaving, face flushed with frustration, and Draco didn’t immediately feel scared, but... but something very similar to what he felt when Harry was this close to him last time, and the fact that these feelings weren’t entirely abhorrent in turn scared him.

Harry paused for a moment, his head making an odd, aborted motion in the direction of Draco’s shoulder— or neck, perhaps. Because of this, his head was slightly bowed, and when he looked up at Draco from beneath his wild hair, his stare gave Draco the terrifying impression that maybe he’d given himself away.

Draco yanked his arm away, flushing and horrified by his own body’s reactions. “What do you  _ want _ ?” he demanded for the third time.

Harry stared at him, long and hard.

Draco could feel his face heating further the longer this eye contact continued, to his mortification. He didn’t understand why this was happening. He didn’t  _ like  _ Harry, goddamnit!

“I’m a werewolf,” Harry said.

Draco blinked. Rather, his eyelids fluttered for a moment because he didn’t even get that far before opening them wide once more. “Excuse me?”

“I’m a werewolf,” Harry repeated.

Draco wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Are you shitting me?” he asked, because this had to be a joke. Harry was fooling around with him now? What was this, some play at their old friendship? This wasn’t even funny.

“Look,” Harry growled, looking as frustrated as he sounded. “I can’t — I can’t really prove it to you, obviously, right now, but there’s a full moon tomorrow, and others might be lurking around out here, alright? I just want you to stay inside, where it’s safe.”

“From,” Draco raised his eyebrows, “werewolves,” he clarified.

Harry scowled at him. “I  _ know  _ how this sounds, but this is important, Draco.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Thanks for the concern, Harry, but I don’t need you telling me not to go wandering about in the dead of night. I’m not suicidal.”

“Draco, just...” Harry made a grab for his arm again, but Draco swung it away, leaving his hand raised.

Draco raised his eyebrows along with it, as if in challenge.

Harry, deadpan, merely grabbed his hand, holding it, and Draco was admittedly shocked by the intimate action.

Harry smiled a bit, eyes twinkling from the porchlight. “Did you think I didn’t want to touch your hand?”

Draco frowned. “You're being unnecessarily aggressive. Why grab my hand when you could just, I don’t know, manhandle my arm again. I thought leaving my hand as the only option would remind you that it should have been your first option, and therefore would have cowed you into not grabbing me at all.”

“I’ll grab your hand next time, then,” Harry replied, uncomprehending of the quip or merely unrepentant as he entwined his fingers with Draco’s.

Draco wrinkled his nose at the admittedly familiar sensation of Harry forcing his thicker fingers between Draco’s, as Harry had always enjoyed doing so when they were younger. Not that they held hands often — that would have been odd — but it did happen on occasion, and Harry had never shown any restraint in taking it further by interlacing their fingers, as he was doing now.

“For once, just listen to me, alright?” Harry insisted, voice softer, but still firm. He waited until Draco, defiance oozing from his every pore, met his eyes before he stressed, “this is very important. I know you don’t owe me anything anymore, but for old time’s sake, please stay inside tomorrow.”

Draco didn’t like the thought of doing anything for Harry’s sake, not after all that...  _ strangeness  _ he’d spouted the last time there were outside his house, but he didn’t see much harm in giving in, honestly. Draco was stubborn, but Harry was even more so, and it wasn’t as though Draco had any plans of going anywhere the next afternoon anyway. It would be easier just to give in, he assured himself, and so he did.

“Fine. But I better not see you outside my goddamn house tomorrow-”

“Of course I will. I need to ensure you’re safe.”

Draco blanched. “But what about the full moon?”

Harry barked out a laugh. “We can turn at any time. Many simply prefer the full moon because it provides better light.”

“ _ Fuck  _ no.”

Harry squeezed his hand, and Draco remembered that they were, indeed, still holding hands. He then, of course, went about doing everything in his power to extract them.

Harry, naturally, held on even tighter.

“Do you mind?” Draco scowled. “Have you never heard of boundaries? If not that, then common courtesy? Back off.”

“Look... about last time-”

Oh, no, no, no! Draco did  _ not _ want to remember last time, and he wanted  _ Harry  _ to talk about it even less! Because it still left him... uncomfortable. And intrigued, and confused, and nothing that he wanted to feel whatsoever.

“Last time never happened,” Draco cut him off, voice brisk. “I regret it, so in my mind, it never happened. Don’t bring it up again. Ever.”

Harry was, at first, shocked, and then it turned to incredulity. “It never  _ happened _ ?” he asked, finally releasing Draco's hand.

Draco was growing red, he knew, because all the memories were coming back.

_ “I want to throw you up against this car and fuck you.” _

“It means nothing to me,” Draco assured, voice high with embarrassment.

_ “I want to turn you around and eat you out.” _

“Of  _ course  _ it matters,” Harry growled, shoving him harshly. “I  _ marked  _ you, you  _ asshole _ , that means  _ everything!  _ That’s what’s keeping the rest of them  _ away  _ from you! What’s keeping you  _ safe _ !”

“A fucking  _ bite mark _ ?” Draco yelled back cynically. 

Harry laughed darkly, and it almost didn’t sound like him. “Do you want more?” he asked, smile more of a leer than anything.

Draco glowered down at him with fury. “I hate you,” he said.

Harry ignored him. “I can smell it on you, you know. Arousal.”

No. Draco did not want to hear this. Any of this.

“Too bad you  _ disgust me _ ,” he snarled, baring his teeth.

Harry’s hand shot forward, cupping Draco’s jaw, and Jesus, his  _ strength _ !

Draco’s hands scrambled for purchase on Harry’s thick arm as the younger man dragged him forward by his grip _ on Draco’s jaw _ .

Harry leaned in, smiling meanly. “ _ Don’t  _ flash your teeth at me, Malfoy.”

Draco grinned back at him, and it was  _ all  _ teeth. “ _ Bite  _ me, Potter,” and he shoved the brunette away from him. “Get the fuck out of my face before I vomit,” he demanded, partially because he was so incensed he might, and partially because Harry had been right. He was aroused, terribly so, and his thighs were beginning to twitch and tremble.

Harry shook his head and laughed in disbelief, running a hand through his hair. “You... are  _ so frustrating _ !”

“ _ Me _ ?” Draco gaped. “You’re fucking  _ joking _ .”

“You want me!” Harry declared, throwing his hands in the air. “We both know it! I’m not fighting it, so why are you?”

“Because I don’t  _ like  _ you!”

“You used to,” Harry said, impossibly green eyes looking at him from beneath dark hair, and then Draco was livid once more.

“Not like you wanted me to, it seems,” Draco sneered, shoving his way past the intruder and making his way up his porch steps.

Draco looked back over his shoulder only when he knew his was face an apathetic mask, and Harry’s unsurprisingly reflected his own with its unreadability.

Harry stood at the bottom step, looking up at Draco with his hands back in his fucking pockets.

“I don’t want to see you again,” Draco warned him. If he wanted a response, he got none, and shut the door without another glance back. He locked it, and waited briefly by the door for any sounds of leaves crunching underfoot as Harry left, but heard none, and that only angered him more. He was tempted to slam a fist against the door, maybe throw it open again and threaten to call the police, but didn’t want to give Harry the satisfaction of seeing him riled once more.

Not that it mattered. When Draco turned to decidedly stride up the steps and to his bedroom, he couldn’t resist a glance out the side panels of glass, only to find Harry gone, despite Draco not having heard a thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments and kudos!


	3. 3

The next day, Draco didn’t mention anything to his parents despite their inquiring looks, nor did he mention anything to Pansy when she asked if he’d ‘sorted things out’.

“Unfortunately, I figured out one thing only to have it complicate the rest,” he’d replied.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” she’d asked, but judging by the distracted rifling through her bag, she already knew his answer.

“No, thank you,” he said anyway, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t keep thinking about it. ‘Brooding’, as Pansy had taken to calling it. 

Was he attracted to Harry? A resounding yes.

Could he act on it? A horny maybe.

_ Should  _ he act on it? A unanimous  _ no _ .

He would be sending Harry mixed signals, for one, because he most definitely was not in  _ love  _ with the delusional, werewolf-wannabe, but also because Draco’s pride wouldn’t have it. Not after Harry’s rejection all those years ago, despite his newfound confession. Not after Harry had treated him like some wanton piece of meat to devour. Not after Harry had obviously seen Draco’s unwanted, positive reactions to said attentions.

He’d said no, and now he had to stick to it. He couldn’t have Harry convincing him otherwise, because he couldn’t have the younger man knowing how easily Draco could be, with a few more dirty confessions and perhaps some more roughing around.

Draco groaned in agony, burying his head in his hands.

“When did things get so fucked up?” he moaned.

Pansy pet his hair soothingly, despite her tight lip suggesting just what she thought about his complaints.

“I love you, you know that?” he mumbled tiredly as her skilled fingers had him almost melting.

“I know,” she sighed.

The rest of the school day past in something of a blur of pondering and agonizing with a brief lunch break before he returned to more agonizing.

No, he would not sexually pursue Harry.

No, he would not allow Harry to continue to sexually  _ or  _ romantically pursue him.

No, he would not allow himself to be convinced of anything.

No, he did not believe in this werewolf bullshit.

No, he... did not know Harry anymore, it seemed.

The answer to everything was  _ no _ , he continued to reassure himself, and this is what got him through the day.

And then it was time to head home. When the bell rang, signaling the end of the day, Draco could have cried. Christ, he needed a nap or  _ something _ .

His phone went off, and he considered ignoring it in favor of hastening the trip to his car, which would therefore get him home and into bed faster, but acknowledged it could be an emergency.

It was just Pansy, asking if we wanted to come over.

Draco replied with an affirmative, because Pansy would let him nap at her house with the additional benefit of cuddling him while he did so, which was always nice. And, her parents made the best mini quiche Draco had ever had the pleasure of tasting, and every time he came over, there was a slight chance they would make them again.

“You just want to nap?” she laughed, sliding under his arm as they walked.

“I like holding you while I sleep,” he told her, and it was true.

She blushed a bit, smiling at him. “You’re weird, you know that?”

However, as they strolled to Draco’s car, they were startled to a stop to see someone already slouched against it.

Bloody fuck.

“I thought I told you I didn’t want to see you again,” Draco said.

Harry blinked at him. “I told you I would keep an eye on you today.”

“I don’t need it.”

“You don’t know what you need,” Harry replied, eyes dark.

Draco felt his temper flare, faster than ever before.

“And you do?” Pansy inquired, speaking up, Draco assumed, because she could feel him nearly quaking with rage. “Harry Potter, was it?”

Harry stared her down. “Pansy Parkinson.”

Pansy raised her nose at him, and though Draco would — despite everything — despise anyone else who did that to Harry, when Pansy did it in his defense, he felt nothing but pride.

“Draco’s staying with me today,” Pansy told him matter-of-factly.

“No, he’s not,” Harry replied calmly. “He’s staying with me, because as we discussed yesterday, I’m doing this for  _ him _ . If he knows what’s  _ best _ , he’ll get it over with.”

Draco was suddenly hearing all the key words. Harry was implying that if Draco spent today with him, Harry would leave him alone afterwards? Last night, Harry had spoken of some ambiguous group, some ‘they’ who would be after him tonight due to the full moon. Werewolves, he’d claimed, because the moonlight gave them a visual advantage. 

All of it was absolute bullshit, of course, but there wouldn’t be a full moon tomorrow, not one until next month.

“Wait, Pans,” Draco said.

Pansy looked at him disbelievingly. “You’re serious?” she asked, sounding and looking insulted, as though he’d chosen Harry over her.

Draco glowered at Harry, and then looked to Pansy. “I owe him,” Draco lied, “and I said we’d do this today, so I should just do it, or he’ll keep harassing me.” Draco peered down his nose at Harry, as though he were gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe. “He doesn’t have any manners, you see.”

Pansy sent Harry a similarly displeased look. “I can tell. You shouldn’t hang out with the likes of him, Draco. I don't know what you owe him, but wrap it up. You know what they say about him...”

And with that, Pansy kissed his cheek — making it linger, as she side-eyed Harry — and took off.

Draco grumpily made his way over to his car, ignoring Harry as he started the engine and buckled up, pulling into reverse and backing out of the spot before Harry had even fully shut the door.

“You didn’t tell her it was you who started the rumors,” Harry said.

“Why would I have?” Draco asked blandly, eyes on the road.

“I thought you felt bad,” Harry said, watching him, and Draco was thrown for a loop.

Sometimes, Harry was like the old Harry — a little shy, a little unsure, and very odd. Stares a little too much, doesn’t blink as often as he should. And sometimes, Harry was the football star, the charismatic, can-function-like-a-normal-human-being-without-being-slightly-creepy guy who, just yesterday, had been trying to convince Draco that he was a werewolf.

And then there was the aggressive Harry, who bruised his neck with his teeth and tongue, who spoke those vile words and openly admitted to wanting Draco, to wanting to do things to Draco...

The blond wondered who the real Harry was, which one was an act, if any of them were. Maybe Harry Potter had gone all multiple-personalities while they weren’t friends.

This was the old Harry, the one Draco knew how to handle, who stared at Draco unwaveringly as he drove — either unafraid of a crash (with his supposed werewolfishness) or too trusting.

“I did,” Draco admitted, grudgingly honest, “but part of me believed you’d come crawling back when you realized you couldn’t find a better friend than myself. I didn’t tell Pansy because I was waiting for you to come back.”

“You’re the reason everyone else left me.”

“Yes, but you left me,” Draco said simply, feeling angry all over again for no good reason that he could discern, “I didn’t leave you. You still could have come back.”

“You wouldn’t have let me back,” Harry said, turning to watch the road, finally.

Draco flexed his fingers on the steering wheel, because Harry was right, and Draco didn’t like that Harry could still read him so easily.

“I know,” he said, frustrated with himself, a bit. “I don’t know what I wanted.”

“You never know what you want, really,” Harry said, and Draco wasn’t sure if he meant that in a general manner, or specifically to Draco.

“Submission, maybe,” Draco wondered aloud, and it sounded right. He wanted to have Harry at his mercy. To have Harry crawl back, and then to reject him as Harry had done. To leave Harry stranded, and hurt, though part of Draco knew, no matter what, that Harry wouldn’t have felt the keen sense of loss Draco did when Harry rejected him, even if his plan had worked out and Draco finally got to reject Harry. Because with Harry, it would have been a case of his last option deserting him, and with Draco, it had been a case of his best option, his most trusted and confided option, deserting him.

Draco now knew that it had been because Harry had loved him, supposedly, but that only left a bitter taste in his mouth because, in a way, that didn’t forgive Harry, in his mind. He didn’t know if he’d wanted Harry to confess to him — he wouldn’t have reciprocated, just as he wouldn’t now. They’d probably have grown apart anyway, after the hypothetical confession, and instead of the scathing comment about loyalty, it would have been something about Harry’s sexuality, maybe, because after they both grew apart, Draco could still easily picture himself feeling a keen sense of loss, and being angry about it.

Was he any better than Diggory, really?

What did Harry see in him?

“Submission,” Harry repeated belatedly, flatly, eyes ahead. “Is that what you want from me?”

“I don’t want anything from you,” Draco told him, “but I won’t be the one to give, in this situation.”

Harry stared at him, looking incredulous again. “When have you  _ ever  _ been the one to give?”

“You’re here now, aren’t you?”

“You ruined my life,” Harry told him.

Draco’s grip tightened again. Anger. Frustration. Guilt.

“You mean nothing to me,” Draco reminded him, and pulled into his driveway.

They were silent as they left the car and trudged to the porch, where Draco let Harry in.

When they were inside, Harry said, “I’m sorry.”

Draco stared at him.

“Sometimes...” Harry ran a hand through his hair. “Sometimes the wolf gets a hold of me, and I say things I don’t mean to say. Out loud.”

Draco wasn’t sure what to make of this. Of Harry blaming his bizarre changes over the past few days on some ‘wolf’ in his head. Maybe he did have multiple personalities. Draco wasn’t sure if he should feel endangered. He didn’t, because it was Harry, and despite everything, Draco didn’t seriously think Harry would ever hurt him, but he did offhandedly consider calling the police. Maybe the hospital. The pound? Werewolf over here would find that hilarious, surely.

“You don’t believe me,” Harry said more than asked, reading Draco’s rather bland expression.

“If you can transform into a wolf, why don’t you show me?” Draco asked instead, leaning against a wall and propping his shoulder against it. He reclined and crossed one leg over the other.

“It wouldn’t be safe. I’m less in control, as a wolf,” Harry said.

“I’m not scared of you,” Draco told him, and it was true.

Harry barked out a laugh. “I know,” he said, and for some reason, that assuredness, as though he’d never thought otherwise, filled Draco with... something. Something warm.

“So?”

“So, I’m not worried about attacking you, so much as other things.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, scrutinizing him, because he got the impression Harry would have ducked his head again, had they been having this conversation years ago. He wasn’t sure why.

“Other things?” he repeated, and Harry’s discomfort finally showed as he flushed a bit.

“You know. Animal crap.”

“Animal-”

“Peeing,” Harry blurted, looking faintly mortified. “I don’t want to mark the place up because, at the time, it seems like a good idea. Or hump your leg, or something. I don’t know. I’ve never transformed around someone I liked, before.”

For some reason, Draco’s attention caught on the less embarrassing parts. “So you’ve transformed around other people.” Why did that thought bother him?

“Of course,” Harry said. “My pack, for one. Dudley knows, I’m pretty sure, though he hasn’t talked to me about it in, erm, person.”

Draco wasn’t sure how he felt about all of this new information. “Your pack,” he repeated.

Harry nodded and, for once, a smile filtered over his face. “Yeah, they’re great. When I first transformed, I was terrified — obviously. But, when they found me and accepted me as one of their own, it was like the family I never had. That I never knew I was looking for...”

Jealousy. Why, oh why, was he so bloody jealous?

Half of him was happy. Elated, really. Dudley’s parents treated Harry like shit, and so did Draco and the rest of their goddamn school. When he first transformed — if Draco decided he believed all this crap — Harry must have felt incredibly lost. But now, Harry finally had a family, a group of nutters like himself so he could finally feel accepted.

The other half of him, however, was pissed that Harry didn’t want  _ him  _ as family, that Harry hadn’t felt this way about  _ him _ .

No, Harry just wanted to  _ bone  _ him. What did Harry even think his feelings were? There was no fucking way he loved Draco. Not after everything.

Draco shook his head, trying to clear it. “Sure. Sure,” he said, trying to ground himself. “Do you and your werewolf friends meet up often? Any Lycanthropes Anonymous meetings I should be aware of?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Funny. And we meet up almost every day. Our base of operations is that waffle house? You know the one. On Main street?”

Draco almost laughed. Yes, everyone knew the waffle café. The fact that Harry and his werewolf friends met up there was just... hilarious. A little gay, too.

Harry rolled his eyes again. “I can practically hear your thoughts.”

“Funny,” Draco drawled, “you haven’t left my sight yet.”

With a pointed look and a dramatic sigh at the suddenly unresponsive man, Draco trekked up to his bedroom where he deposited his bag. Luckily, Harry had more sense than to try and follow him.

Draco leaned back against his bedroom door, taking a few deep breaths to calm himself. Christ, he was going to get high blood pressure or something from this bastard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so so so much for all the kind comments! I love hearing what you guys think/want to see from these two~


	4. 4

As they sat before the TV eating cereal for dinner (His parents were out again. What else were they supposed to eat?), Draco could almost convince himself they were normal friends again.

Almost.

“Finish your homework?” Draco asked.

Harry nodded, eyes rapt on the television.

“Cute. What work do you still have to do?”

Harry made a disgruntled noise before placing his bowl and spoon down on the coffee table before them. “Do you mind?” he asked, annoyed.

Draco grinned. “Can’t let your grades suffer just because you hate your life,” he chirped.

“And who’s fault is that?” Harry asked, deadpan.

“Look, I only started your fall from grace,” Draco said, standing and collecting their bowls. “You’re the one who made shitty choices from then on.” He began to walk behind the couch and out of the kitchen, but Harry’s expression from the corner of his eye made him pause.

It was one of wonder. “You just can’t find it in yourself to apologize, can you?”

Draco contemplated whether or not he would feel some remorse at that, but surprisingly, it didn’t come this time. “I might if I actually felt sorry. And I did, at one point,” he admitted, “but you don’t honestly seem all that upset.”

Harry stared at him, and then looked down at his lap, where his hands rested. “Honestly? I’m not. I was never really mad at you, I guess, more mad at myself.”

“Yourself,” Draco echoed, curious now.

“For, yeah, the choices I made,” he grit out. “But, it got me to where I am now. The isolation made me bond with my pack more, and the fact that we didn’t have a relationship anymore whatsoever gave me the courage to risk it and tell you how I felt. How I feel.”

Draco, oddly enough, felt embarrassed. “So, you wouldn’t have confessed before? Had we been friends, I mean.”

Harry’s eyes returned to him, bright even in the dark. The only light in the room came from the television, which was behind him, leaving a bright blue halo around his head, highlighting the wayward strands in his hair. His face and his expression were both hard to decipher in the shadow as Harry faced him, but those damn eyes seemed to glow, almost.

“No,” Harry said eventually, “I wouldn’t have. I know you don’t reciprocate. I’d rather have you as a friend than not at all. And, if I don’t have you at all,” Harry continued, bright eyes narrowing, “I’d rather have you hate me than ignore me.”

Draco felt his throat close up, because, disturbingly enough, he felt the same.

He didn’t like that Harry’s life continued on without him, without them being friends.

He wanted Harry’s undivided attention, always. He wanted Harry to submit, to apologize to him.

To crawl back to him on all fours, sobbing,  _ begging  _ for him.

He needed it.

Draco, afterwards, wondered what expression he’d had on his face right then, because suddenly Harry was leaping over the back of the couch, but it was a soundless movement. There had been power there, as Harry’s arm lifted himself over. The movement wasn’t slow, but it wasn’t rapid, like a normal jump. It was a calculated slide over the single obstacle separating them, and Harry’s eyes never left his as he gently, gently used his hands to push aside Draco’s, which were preoccupied holding the bowls, one in each hand.

“What,” Draco began, only to be cut off by a mouth pressed feverishly against his own.

Harry was kissing him.

Draco felt the world stop turning.

He could swear time slowed, could swear he could see the light from the telly flickering, could swear he could see the almost imperceptible frames changing per second.

He could see Harry’s hair, slowly falling into place as his momentum stopped, halted by Draco himself. The dust particles in the air, disturbed by the movement and illuminated by the TV.

He could hear Harry’s deep inhale, the clink of the spoons in the bowls as Draco’s hands shifted.

He could feel breath against his face, the warmth of Harry’s skin against his own as the other man pushed his arms open, pushed him to accommodate Harry’s intrusion. He could feel Harry’s mouth, moving against his own not in affection, but silent words, like a prayer.

“You want this,” Harry gasped against his mouth, as though he’d been running, as though he could barely breathe.

Harry slithered his hands beneath Draco’s shirt, cold hands pressing against heated skin.

Draco inhaled sharply, his stomach shying away from the touch, and Harry’s hands flew to his hips, his waist, where he shucked his hands up and down as if to warm Draco, as if Draco was the one who was looking for heat.

“Let me have this,” Harry sobbed, begged.

Harry’s body pressed against Draco’s, backing him up against the wall. His fingers, feathering, gripped suddenly, harshly on Draco’s hip bones, and the blond gasped, eyes fluttering shut as Harry dug his fingers into the tender flesh, jerking his hands up and rucking Draco’s shirt up along with it.

Draco could feel the nails digging into his skin at the movement, could see the angry red marks against his pale skin in his mind’s eye, and he groaned.

Draco knew he was painfully aroused, just like that, and it somehow excited him further knowing Harry could smell it, that Harry knew just what he was doing to him.

And Harry must have known. He kissed like this would be his only kiss, and he grabbed Draco like this would be his only chance. There was a mixture of desperation and worship there, and Draco almost couldn’t remember why this was a bad idea.

Almost.

Harry tasted like sugary cereal and obsession.

Harry’s large hands were on his ribs, his thumbs spreading towards an alabaster chest in search of Draco’s nipples.

In response, Draco arched his back, pressing his ass against the wall behind him, puffing his chest into the now-heated hands. 

His mouth was hot, like longing and hatred. Like coming home.

Harry moaned into his mouth, biting at Draco’s lips when the blond turned away slightly.

“We need to stop,” Draco panted, and attempted to level Harry with a stern look. 

Harry released a noise akin to a purr before leaning in and burying his head in Draco’s neck, inhaling deeply.

“Your smell hasn't changed,” Harry said, voice muffled. “Remember that time, when you picked me up from school in the snow... and you lent me your sweater?”

Draco didn't respond, glancing behind the television — still on, though he could barely hear it — and out the window. He could see the light from the full moon peeking in.

“That smell gave me hope,” Harry murmured. “Fuck, I love you,” he said, reverently, like he couldn't get enough.

Draco shoved him away, finally finding his conviction. “Stop,” Draco repeated, more firmly this time. “Don't-... just don't.”

Harry stared at him through his fringe, eyes intense, but didn't repeat himself. His chest heaved silently, his lips red and cheeks flushed, but he knew exactly what he’d been doing. He knew he was treading where he wasn’t allowed.

“I'm going to bed,” Draco said, finally. Of course, he stopped in the kitchen and gently, finally deposited their dishes in the sink first.

* * *

Draco awoke what couldn't have been more than three hours later. It was still dark out, and he had a cramp in his neck from where he'd been slouched over his desk. He'd apparently fallen asleep while trying to finish his reading for English — scratch that, he'd purposefully used his English reading to put himself to sleep, but hadn't made it to the bed first.

Draco, groggily, as he processed all of this and his memories began to return, wondered what had woke him up.

He remembered Harry, confessing again. Pushing him against the wall, grabbing at him, begging him. Kissing him.

Draco had never loved kissing. The act in and of itself was fine enough, but ultimately foreplay. He enjoyed kissing because it usually lead to something else — some sort of sexual gratification, usually. Though he'd been swept up in the moment, he'd never had any intention of doing anything sexual with Harry. That being said, usually, kissing was something he suffered through.

Of course, with Harry, it was different. Harry kissed like... like he couldn't get enough. Again, the word  _ worship _ fluttered to the forefront of Draco’s mind when he thought of how Harry had touched him, and kissed him. It was flattering, for one, but it meant so much more to Draco. It was begging, it was admission, and  _ sub _ mission, and exactly what he wanted from Harry. He wanted to be treated as though Harry couldn't get any better, as if Harry  _ needed _ him like Draco needed him, and it was too intimate  _ not _ to become sexual with Harry.

He should have known better. Should have known that, had things unfolded slightly differently — less confessions, more begging, more touching and intoxicated inhales between kisses — that he might very well have fucked. Or been fucked.

Draco was mortified by his own thoughts, of course, but it was true. He'd never had sex with a man before, but he was adventurous with his porn subscriptions. He knew what was out there.

With Harry, he could picture himself giving, or, yes, getting. He could picture himself tied up, or Harry tied up, blindfolded, bound, gagged, chained — he could picture everything. Despite the difference in their sizes, heights, and so much about their personalities, Draco could easily imagine everything symmetrically. What he did, Harry could probably do too. 

But, Christ, what did all of this mean? It wasn't love, not on either of their ends — he was sure of it, despite what Harry thought — but obsession, perhaps. Some peculiar dynamic where they both mutually wanted from each other, but weren't willing to give.

Except, yesterday — earlier that night? What time was it? — Harry had seemed very willing to give. In every sense of the word. 

He’d begged, like Draco always wanted. He'd begged Draco to let him have this, to let him have  _ Draco _ , and that was what Draco wanted. This dependence. And, had Draco flipped them around, he was sure Harry wouldn't have backed off, wouldn't have done anything but keen and be pleased that Draco wasn't pushing him away.

But what did this  _ mean _ ?

Codependence, perhaps. A mutual toxicity for one another.

Draco, again, wondered what had woken him.

Where  _ was _ Harry, even? Out of habit, Draco glanced at the side-bed which had been in his room since he was young, usually filled with either a sleeping Harry or Draco’s laundry. 

Rather, he looked at where it used to be. It had long since been folded up and placed in the attic for safekeeping, considering Draco hadn't any use or need for it any longer. Now, that space in his room was occupied by a bookshelf, half filled with genuine literature, half porn under the thin guise of romance novels. Sure, that was genuine literature too, but when he spoke of  _ literature _ , he spoke of what one could speak about in polite company, he supposed.

Perhaps Harry was asleep downstairs, on the couch. Draco wondered if, being the host, he should offer Harry a blanket. What if, when his parents came home in the morning — he didn't think about why they would only return by morning, he just didn’t — they gave him those disappointed looks because his house guest was freezing on the sofa?

With a grumble and curse as he tripped over his hastily discarded shoes from the night before — though, technically, it was still night — Draco made his way downstairs once more.

However, when Draco checked the living room, Harry wasn't there, though the television had been shut off.

Harry wasn't in the kitchen either, nor the sun room, nor the dining room, nor the basement. Just where the fuck was he?

Draco ended up making himself some tea at — he glanced at the digital clock on the stove — three in the morning just to calm himself down. Usually, he would go with coffee, but he feared the mixture of caffeine and sleep deprivation would make him prone to making bad decisions, like wandering out in the night despite Harry’s warnings, just to look for him.

_ He probably just went home,  _ Draco assured himself, sipping his too-hot tea with too much aggression. He burned his tongue and held back another curse. 

He did curse, however, in a mixture of surprise and anger, when he heard the front door slip open and closed — he heard the lock click behind the intruder — only to have a bloodied Harry awkwardly shuffle into the hallway, and therefore onto his line of sight.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Draco demanded, and could feel himself inwardly cringe at how he sounded. What was he, Harry’s girlfriend?

Harry looked surprised as he stepped into the room, finally visible in the kitchen’s light. Indeed, he was a bloody, muddy mess, as though he'd gone tumbling in a field of rose bushes after a storm. The scratches were mild, but great in number.

“I didn't know you were awake,” Harry admitted.

“I wasn't. I just woke up. Where were you?” he repeated

Harry frowned a bit. “I heard something outside so I went to check. As I suspected, it was another pack’s wolf, so I sent him on his way. And, um,” here, Harry looked humiliated, “marked this area — So, uh, such a  _ mistake _ won't happen again!” he assured.

Draco stared at him. “You peed in my yard,” he said more than asked.

Harry ducked his head and mumbled, “I'm sorry.”

Draco shook his head. He hardly cared, to be honest. It wasn't as though he ate the grass. He barely ate the vegetables, if he was honest, but for his parents’ sake, he hoped Harry had the mind to avoid that area.

It occurred to him offhandedly that it was possible Harry wasn't an actual werewolf, just mad, and that Draco was playing into his ploy. And that a very human Harry may have very well just pissed all over his yard. But, even that thought didn't disturb him as much as it should. He seemed equally convinced of Harry’s lycanthropy and insanity.

“You should take a shower,” Draco told him.

Harry nodded, still not looking Draco in the eye, seeming ashamed of himself.

“I'll find something for you to wear. I'll put it in my room, so when you're done, you can just — You know the drill, Harry. We've only done this a million times.” He rolled his eyes.

Harry nodded again, silent as he turned and left — though, it almost seemed like fleeing — the kitchen.


	5. 5

As Harry showered, Draco listened to the distant sound of it for a couple minutes before he too traveled upstairs and began rifling through his closet for something big enough for Harry to wear. He considered finding something of his father’s, but didn't want Harry to think he'd put too much effort into the decision, dammit. Just grab something and go!

He glanced in his mirror, frowning at himself, as though it would convince his mind to chill the fuck out.

Instead, he noticed his sleep shirt sliding over his shoulder, baring the dark mark Draco still sported on his neck from earlier that week, when this had all begun. The teeth marks had scabbed over.

The blond shook his head, annoyed with himself.

Draco eventually settled on the biggest t-shirt he had, which would fit, and some pajama pants Draco could already envision stretching tight over Harry’s thick thighs, package, and toned ass. 

Harry had a great ass, as Draco recalled, and was still recalling it when his door opened.

Draco jumped, alarmed at being caught — he didn't know —  _ fantasizing _ . Not that Harry would know. He was suitably distracted, however, by Harry immediately ducking his head, still obviously embarrassed with himself, and the fact that Harry’s body was unmarked. He didn't have any scars or bruises at all. Even the scratches had disappeared.

Either Harry actually was a werewolf, or Draco was the one who was insane, and he really didn't want to dance that line right now, so he focused on something else.

“Thanks for the clothes,” Harry said quietly, shifting awkwardly. The towel around his waist was tied tightly, but still Draco watched it warily. This seemed like a scene from some teen drama.

Actually, he could use this to his advantage.

“You said you needed to mark me to protect me from enemies, or whatever,” Draco began, patting the bed next to him.

Harry walked over and seated himself. He glanced at Draco sharply from beneath his wet hair, which curled alluringly. He seemed nervous that Draco would jab at said mark’s unimportance again, but that wasn't where Draco was going at all.

Well, it kind of was.

“But you don't need one,” Draco asked.

Harry frowned a bit. “No, that's not... Usually, um, mates mark each other — Not that you're my mate, but, it's a scent thing. Usually the stronger of the pair — like, if it were an alpha male and beta female, the male would mark the female.”

Draco's eyes were narrowed, unsure he was happy with these insinuations. “Sure,” he replied.

“Since I'm the wolf, and you're not, I marked you to keep you safe. My scent shows that I’m, well, a werewolf. So others will keep away.”

Draco nodded, as though thoughtful. “So, like property.”

Harry flushed again. “Wait-”

“So, you don't need protection because you're a big bad werewolf,” Draco continued, anyway.

Harry looked confused with the early stirrings of irritation. “No, not at all. I just marked you to keep others away from  _ you _ .”

Draco admired the walls, playing disinterested. “And you don't want the others away from you? Even after one attacked you tonight?”

Harry stared at him, understanding seeming to dawn on him as tension became visible in the strong line of his shoulders.

Draco took advantage, pivoting his body and swinging a powerful leg over Harry’s toweled lap.

Harry grabbed Draco’s hips at the movement, a knee-jerk reaction, but he didn’t push Draco off. In fact, when the blond decidedly shifted his weight so he was seated more firmly over Harry, the brunette’s grip only pressed harder, showing Draco exactly where he wanted the blond situated.

Draco could feel Harry’s groin beneath him, beneath the towel. It was hot, and thick, and stiff, and Draco felt a little drunk off the thought of it.

He unconsciously flexed his thighs at said thoughts, which he only realized when Harry released a hiss from between his clenched teeth, square jaw flexing as he powerfully squeezed Draco’s legs with his hands. Though, in warning or to  _ keep  _ them there, the blond wasn't entirely sure.

“What are you doing, Draco?”

Draco flipped his hair to one side, decidedly placing his palms on Harry’s shoulders. “Nothing,” he said.

“You’re teasing me,” Harry said, voice gruff.

“I’ll stop if you want me to,” Draco said easily, leaning backwards as if to get off.

Harry tightened his grip, large hands squeezing closer to Draco’s rear, right where thigh met cheek.

“You know that’s not the problem, here.”

“Do you think I'm weak?” Draco asked him, looking down his nose at him.

“No,” Harry replied, and his eyes were piercing, yet wary, as though unsure of Draco’s intention, though the blond rather thought it was obvious.

Draco had never given anyone a lap dance before, though he was vaguely aware of what they entailed. He watched enough porn to be vaguely aware of what they entailed. From personal experience, however, he was lacking even on the receiving end. He'd only ever dated Pansy, and though she had playfully sat on his lap sometimes, and she did ride him occasionally, they didn't really do foreplay — aside from kissing. Sex wasn't an experience for them, it was like an itch to scratch, or something fun to do when you had someone to explore with. They got right down to it, and they did experiment, but apparently lap dances had never come up.

But he knew what he wanted to do to Harry, how he would do it. How he would tempt Harry into touching him, into demanding more of him.

“So let me mark you,” Draco decided.

Harry stiffened beneath him, his expression souring.

Draco, uncharacteristically enough, didn't feel that familiar sense of rejection, or indignation. No, he felt calm. He was confident that his intended outcome was inevitable, and he wondered if Harry could sense it too, if that's why Draco could almost make out the brown hairs on Harry’s arms standing on end.

“Why,” Harry said more than asked.

“I have your mark, so I want you to have mine,” Draco answered truthfully, nonplussed.

“That's what mates do,” Harry said, peering at him as though he were unsure of Draco’s sobriety at the moment. “A mark meaning we will protect each other. It's for lovers.”

“So others can mark you, but no one else can mark me,” Draco asked.

Harry frowned. “Well, they could, but-”

“So, I'm walking around with your scent, and you're without anyone else’s,” Draco finally inquired, and Harry flushed. “That's it, isn't it? You said it was a scent thing.”

He could feel Harry change their positions slightly beneath him, and Draco shifted his weight, trying to gauge Harry’s excitement at the moment, but was stopped by firm hands gripping his hips in place.

“Yes,” Harry whispered, still not allowing him to move, and so Draco resettled in his new position, mostly seated on Harry’s leg.

He considered moving his own leg, grinding it against Harry to see, so he could tell without looking down — because that would break their eye contact, ruin the game — but didn't want to spoil this. This power play.

“Your scratches have healed, so I'm guessing that you heal quickly,” Draco began, having thought this through. “That being said, a hickey won't mark you very long at all, and, me being human, my scent isn't going to last very long, or whatever it is yours is doing, but... it's more the meaning,” Draco tried to explain. “No one will know but you, so I don't see what the problem is. I don't want to be the weak one in this.”

Harry shook his head. “What is ‘this’? You've repeatedly reminded me there  _ is  _ no ‘this’!”

Draco finally frowned, irritation warring at him. “Why are you being a baby? What's the big deal?”

“Mutual marking is the sign of mates,” Harry repeated, slowly, “and you don't want to be mine, so I don't... I don't want to allow you that right.”

“But you marked  _ me _ ,” Draco stressed, leaning back. Harry’s firm grip still held him in place, and Harry’s eyes darkened. Draco was curious whether it was due to anger, or arousal, because Draco hadn't made an effort to balance himself. He leaned back relying entirely on Harry’s grip to keep him situated on the other man’s lap. If Harry released him, Draco would have toppled over, but Harry hadn't. Wouldn't. 

Draco wondered how he would push him to. If that was something Harry would allow himself to do — if he even could.

“In retaliation for you  _ ruining my life _ ! Because no other wolves should be  _ trying _ to mate you!”

“But you admitted earlier that I helped you, too,” Draco said, just to be difficult, just because he needed the last word.

Harry huffed, frustrated, and it was an odd action that appeared more animal than anything — like a horse, or a dog.

“Why are you fighting me on this?” Harry asked, and he sounded almost defeated. “I want my marking to be special, okay? And you're not... you don't want it the way I want it.”

Draco could think of several replies to that. He could make Harry want it in Draco’s way, make it worth his while, make Harry give in.

Harry's nostrils flared, and Draco wondered if Harry could tell how turned on he was right now, if the scent of his arousal was as heavy as it felt to Draco.

Harry jerked Draco forward and exploded out with, “You're so fucking  _ frustrating _ !” His grip was bruising. “The second you can't have something, you want it!”

It was true. Draco wanted to suck Harry dry. Wanted to take everything away from him, just because he knew he could. Knew that he had that power over him, and it was exhilarating, and arousing. That he could ruin this man, this powerful, beautiful man, and that Harry might let him.

“What if I gave you something precious of mine in return?” Draco asked, already thinking it over. Part of him didn't understand why he was pushing this, and another part of him knew exactly why.

Submission.

“Gave me what?” Harry asked.

“It would be a surprise,” Draco replied, suave, because he didn't want to give Harry the wrong idea.

If Draco told Harry that he was planning on going on a break with Pansy, Harry would think it was for him, when it wasn't. It was because now, when he fantasized, it wasn't to his girlfriend’s admirable assets, but to green eyes and freckled skin and a deep voice telling him his sinful desires. It wasn't fair to Pansy, and part of Draco knew it would never be the same with her. With Harry, it was different. He wanted everything from Harry, but from Pansy, it was just... it was different. He couldn't explain it eloquently.

But, Harry would think Draco was doing it because he loved Harry, or had an interest in Harry, when it wasn't that. He would be giving Harry his time and undivided attention, which Harry would undoubtedly appreciate — though it may not be of equal worth to being marked by Draco, it wouldn't matter if Draco got what he wanted. He wasn't breaking up with Pansy  _ for  _ Harry, but  _ because _ of Harry, for  _ himself _ . It was complicated, and he couldn't expect Harry’s simple, libido-controlled mind to wrap around it without coming to the wrong conclusions.

Harry bit his lip, looking away, and Draco abruptly felt wracked with guilt, because Harry looked ready to give in, and Draco had never felt better in his life.

He realized that he could grow to depend on this, to depend on Harry, and this isn't what he needed. He was crafty enough to know that this wasn't what he needed, even if it was what he wanted.

Suddenly this was all too much. Too close, too dangerous.

He could ruin Harry, but he knew right then, in that moment, that if he continued, he would ruin himself in return. A mutual toxicity between them.

_ Fuck _ , he thought, twisting away. Harry’s grip held firm until he noticed the expression on Draco’s face and he let go.

_ Fuck!  _ Draco stepped away from him, shaking his head with a look of disgust. He strode towards the bedroom door.

_ I considered leaving Pansy _ , he chastised himself. He knew, he knew things wouldn't be the same, but he couldn't admit defeat like that, couldn't allow Harry to do this to him again. He fucking couldn't.

Draco scowled, latching on to the most familiar mask. “Look, forget it. There are your fucking clothes,” he spat.

“Draco,” Harry said, obviously nervous, and stood. He slowly walked over, his stance odd, as if he was ready to jump at any second. Away from Draco, or at Draco, the blond wasn't sure. “Draco, this is... special to me. But... you're right. It won't last, I mean, and if it's... To show that I...” He gently reached forward to take Draco’s hand, but the blond yanked it away.

“Don't touch me,” Draco warned.

Harry blinked at him, shocked. “What?”

“I said, forget it,” Draco repeated, with the nastiest grimace he could manage. “I don't want to anymore. Fuck this.”

Harry’s befuddlement was turning into irritation.“Are you fucking kidding me?” he asked, a scowl finally making its way on his face as well. “I don't let you have this, and you close up on me completely?”

Draco threw his arms in the air, incredulous. “When was I ever completely  _ open _ with you?”

Harry's eyes darkened, and he looked murderous. “Don't do that,” he growled, “don't tell me what’s happened between us doesn't mean anything, because it does, and we both fucking well know it, Draco. You wouldn’t have kissed me like that if it didn’t mean anything.”

Draco rolled his eyes, grabbing the doorknob and throwing the door open. “Get out of my fucking sight, Potter.”

Harry frowned. “Potter,” he repeated, slowly.

“I don't want to see you again,” Draco hissed, “and I mean it this time. I know I... I know I lead you on. I apologize,” Draco assured, his mouth twisted in an ugly little smile, “but this can't keep happening.”

Harry looked genuinely lost. “Why?” he asked. “If it's — if we both-”

“I don't like you!” Draco yelled, and Harry flinched, though Draco knew it wasn't from the volume of the declaration. As though Harry didn't already know this, as though he'd thought, somehow, things had changed between them. Fucking  _ ludicrous _ . 

“I don't like you,” Draco repeated, though with more poise. “I don't want you in my house. I don't want you around me. I don't want associate with you, or be seen with you, or even know you, really.”

“Because you don't like me,” Harry parroted, not looking at Draco as he grabbed the offered clothing and shoved his way passed the blond, shouldering him roughly as he did so.

“Because I don't like what you do to me,” Draco snarled, because he had to always have the last bloody word. He didn't notice it was the wrong thing to say, because it had been an honest admission, until Harry whipped around, eyes wide.

Draco promptly slammed his bedroom door shut, heart pounding, blood rushing into his ears with embarrassment and shame. At his ridiculous overreactions, at how he couldn't control himself around Harry, at the fact that, around Harry, his natural, unadulterated self seemed to be this vindictive, vicious character that he didn't like at all.

He wondered if Harry could hear him trying to regulate his breathing, if Harry could hear his heart racing.

If he could, he said nothing. Simply walked away.

Draco wasn't sure why he felt like crying.

* * *

“You're a bloody mess,” Pansy told him when he saw her the next day at school.

He looked at her, and her eyes widened.

She lifted a hand to caress his cheek. “Do you need me?” she asked.

He nodded. 

_ Why did he feel like crying? _

Ignoring the professor, they both stood and left the class.

They hopped in Draco’s car and went to her place, where they knew they’d be alone.

They stripped down together, kissed, touched, and settled down in the bath together. It wasn’t big enough for the two of them, so Pansy sat between Draco’s legs, her back to his chest.

He slithered his arms around her ribs, resting his hands beneath her breasts, because it was warm there.

He pressed his forehead to her nape, her hair hiding him from everything else.

“I  _ am  _ a bloody mess,” he agreed belatedly.

Pansy sighed. “Do you want to tell me what's going on?”

Draco contemplated. He didn't want to, but also, he didn't want to push Pansy away. She was so important to him.

“I think I might be bi,” he mumbled into the nook there. She was so warm.

She froze for a moment, and then, “Alright,” she said, voice soft. “Alright, that... that explains why you've been so... Have you been... experimenting?”

Draco shook his head against her neck, still hiding. From her, from everyone.

“I kissed someone, but it was... kind of an accident. It didn’t mean anything.”

Why did that feel like lying?

“Well,” he continued slowly, unsurely, “it meant...  _ something _ . Which is why I’m... feeling like shit. It was an  _ accident _ ,” he repeated, “it shouldn’t have meant anything.”

Pansy nodded a bit, rubbing reassuring circles in this thigh where she knew he was most sensitive.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered, more like mouthed against her skin. Warm, warm.

Pansy reclined against him more, leaning into his embrace.

“Do you want... to go on a break?” she asked.

“I love you,” he told her. Reminded her.

“I know,” she said, and he could hear the fondness in her voice. “Do you want to go on a break?” she repeated.

He tightened his hold on her, moving his hands until his arms wrapped around her smaller frame entirely.

“You're not leaving me, are you?”

Pansy laughed softly. “No, you big dummy. But we don't have to be dating for us to continue as we have been for the past few weeks. If you need time to figure yourself out, don't keep me chained, Draco. Don't string me along like that. We should both take some time to find ourselves, don't you think? Just like I won't chain you to me. Go experiment, figure out who you are.”

Draco whimpered, holding her, and she pet his head, pressing back against him.

“Is this... because of Harry Potter? Did he... say something?”

Draco sighed, pressing his cheek to her shoulder. He kissed it. She was so  _ warm _ .

“We used to be best friends,” he admitted. “I don't love him or anything, not like you.” And, he didn't. Everything with Potter was... different. “I just... He's making me confused.”

“Is he...” Pansy seemed to be choosing her words carefully. “Reciprocating?”

Draco barked out an abrupt laugh. “He wants to keep me locked in his basement somewhere, I'm sure. He's obsessed.”

“And do  _ you _ ... reciprocate?” She asked, staring down at their feet, their legs entwined.

Draco rested his chin atop her head. “Unfortunately.”

She laced their fingers together, and he squeezed her hand in response.

* * *

Draco was jogging, trying to clear his head.

He felt suffocated by his own thoughts, but also by everyone else. His parents, his classes, his friends. He wanted time to himself. He felt like, lately, he hadn't spent any time alone.

So, he was jogging. Listening to  _ his _ music, running  _ his _ route, wearing  _ his _ tank top and  _ his _ running shorts.

He didn’t have shoes specifically for running, so he’d decided to wear an old pair in favor of dirtying his newer ones. However, said old pair must have been more worn than he thought, because he could feel friction burning the balls of his feet with each step. Maybe it was that his socks were too thin?

It was easy enough to ignore at first, but by the second mile in, he had to stop jogging and take a seat. By then, he was by the edge of the forest, near the lake. He sat down on a fallen tree and kicked off his shoes and socks to let his feet cool down. The tree itself was moist from dew, and it was covered in moss and fungus, but Draco still felt peculiarly that there was no place he’d rather be.

Well, he could imagine a few places. Maybe he should go apologize to Harry. He hadn’t really done anything wrong, in his opinion, but, well, he’d been an ass.

He didn’t know why. When he wasn’t around Harry, he could act and function like a normal human being, but as soon as Harry came into his space, as soon as Draco could smell him and hear him and touch him, suddenly he was just mean and possessive. He knew it wasn’t actually like that — that he must just be a terrible person all the time — but Harry brought it out in him.

He was beginning to wonder if maybe he was just kinky. Harry’s grip had left faint bruising right beneath the swells of his bum, and Draco could faintly make out the shape of fingers. And that had made him hard. Knowing that Harry had lost control like that. Or was it that Harry was so powerful, but hadn’t done more than that?

Maybe it was because he knew that, with Harry, he could get away with acting like that. Anyone in their right mind would have left him already. Harry had left him too, Draco supposed, but he wasn’t worried. He knew just as well as Harry likely did that he would be back.

Draco did, however, grow a little worried when he heard a twig snap behind him. He spun around, unnecessarily alarmed by the slight sound.

Turns out, his paranoia had been justified.

Out jumped a bloody fucking wolf.

In a moment of stupefied insanity, Draco blurted, “One of Harry’s friends, are you?” 

And then it lunged, and Draco stumbled back, but the trunk was wet, and he slipped, and the animal attacked.


	6. 6

Draco woke to the sound of muffled voices, but they didn’t register. His head was pounding hard enough that he took a few moments to just breathe in deeply instead of trying to decipher them.

He could feel cold cement against his cheek, and his legs were cold. His pants weren’t very long at all, and without the intended cardio to warm his body, he could acknowledge that early fall was perhaps not t-shirt and track-shorts weather. He was, however, not cold enough to believe that there was no heating at all in this place, wherever he was.

His ankle ached, suggesting a serious sprain, but besides that, he just felt sore. All. Over. Fucking hell, had he been hit with a car, or a wolf?

Shit, the wolf!

Draco’s eyes sprung open, and he promptly hissed at the candlelight, muted though it was, that assaulted his sensitive retinas.

He mustn’t have been as quiet as previously thought, because suddenly the murmur of voices that he’d successfully tuned out stopped talking, and it was in their absence that he remembered their presence at all. Currently, the lack thereof.

Then he heard footsteps, and creaking, and Draco could just peer up a rickety staircase to see a door opening. He was in someone’s basement, then. Of course he fucking would be.

First Draco saw the boots, uncharacteristically expensive against the torn, faded jeans — and not artistically so — and the black shirt covered in paler spots. Maybe she had been cleaning with bleach.

Blood could be cleaned up with bleach, right? Draco could somewhat confidently say it did, based on his experience. Experience from watching reruns of CSI on Saturdays, anyway. Why wouldn’t it? Bleach cleaned nearly everything. Maybe it was a certain type of bleach in particular? He could vaguely remember reading about that somewhere while browsing the web casually in his free time.

He followed the slope of her neck up to a rather handsome face. Her eyes were tilted in a way that reminded him suddenly more of a fox than a wolf, but then her lip twitched and she snarled, and she looked ferocious enough to be a wolf. 

“You reek of him,” she hissed, swinging her leg around to stand above him. Her boot nearly clonked him in the head, but that seemed to be the intention. Intimidation.

Draco swallowed, curious if her boots were steel-toed, if he would even be able to tell the difference should she decide to kick him into the wall.

“Harry, and his ilk,” the woman continued with a hiss, which Draco was grateful for. The more she vented, the greater a chance he had at talking his way out of this. “To think he’s stooped to taking humans into his clan.” 

She growled, and Draco could almost feel her vibrations through the floor. Almost, but not quite. His imagination could get away from him in situations like these, though. He was honestly surprised he hadn’t pissed himself yet. He’d been fucking  _ abducted _ , for Christ's sake.

“Marking a human,” she sneered, nudging the toe of her shoe into Draco’s jaw, pressing forward until he obediently turned his head and showed her the scarring bite-mark. “Unworthy piece of  _ filth _ . He would never mate the likes of you.” She adjusted her foot, kicking sharply.

Draco hissed again, nearly biting through his tongue at the abrupt attack. He glared at her from beneath his tousled fringe, partially to play the part, and partially because he was genuinely sick of this shit. Harry wasn’t worth it.

“My, but what a pretty little thing. His snack for later, maybe?” she chuckled.

At her own joke.

Fucking hell, she was a cartoon villain. 

Suddenly she knelt down, so quick Draco’s eyes were crossing in an attempt to keep her in his watch. Never turn away from a predator, he knew that.

She raked her hands through his hair and fisted it, yanking his head up.

Draco cried out and scrambled up with her, grimacing as she drew him near enough to pant in his ear.  _ Fuck _ .

“Why would he be marking you then, hmm? Trying to save you? From whom? Why?”

Draco was belatedly registering that this woman didn’t seem to have anything on him. Had she just abducted him for the hell of it? She just kept asking about Harry.

Ah. She was jealous.

Something must have changed in his scent, because suddenly she was yanking him up all the way.

Draco hurried to stand, ignoring the explosion of pain in his ankle as she tugged him up the stairs by his hair. He nearly fell twice, but her grasp was so effortlessly powerful that he feared her tearing off his scalp before he tore himself from her grip.

She walked him to what he guessed was the foyer, judging by the elaborate stairway and the tacky, black and white laminate tiles.

She threw him to the floor, and Draco fell gracelessly. He heard more than felt his bones popping as he tumbled down at just the right angle to hit him in all the worst places.

Definitely marble tiles.  _ Fucking hell. _

As his vision swam, he noticed there were others in the room. All of them were staring down at him, and after a moment of regaining his focus, he realized it was because they refused to meet her eyes. She was superior.

Draco felt the pounding in his head return and wondered why it bloody mattered.

“What are you to Harry?” she snarled, and suddenly stiffened, whipping around as though she heard something. Maybe the pounding hadn’t been completely in his head.

And then she was feral, her eyes wild and dangerous. “You told him?  _ How _ ? Why is he here now!”

“He loves me,” Draco admitted to her airily. Not to be condescending — though that was a bonus — but because he couldn’t think too well. Did he hit his head or something? And how  _ had _ Harry found him, if her suspicions were correct? Draco didn’t know what the fuck was going on.

“ _ What? _ ” the woman screeched, her red hair bristling as she advanced on him swiftly.

Not swift enough, however. The door nearly flew off its hinges as Harry and who Draco assumed was his pack invaded.

The men (guards?) the woman had previously positioned around the room suddenly sprang into action. There was snarling and tackling and Draco feared for his weak ankle as he saw two men nearly fall on top of him. Until, that is, he was unceremoniously hoisted into the air and being stepped on was no longer a concern, so much as why Harry and these other suspected werewolves were so fucking  _ strong _ .

“Draco,” Harry breathed, pressing his nose into the juncture of Draco’s shoulder and neck, the opposite side of where he’d bitten Draco all that time ago. “Are you alright?”

“Just my ankle,” Draco admitted, “but you knew that.”

Harry frowned at him.

“That’s why you’re carrying me?” Draco clarified, but Harry didn’t have the time to respond before the woman’s roar was heard.

“Why!” she cried. “Why  _ him _ ? He cannot bear you strong children, Harry! He’s a human, and weak!”

“And a man,” Draco blurted.

“Gin,” one of Harry’s packmates whispered, gazing at her with sad longing. The kind of look that implied he’d been watching her with those loving eyes for years.

Draco, uncomfortably enough, recognized that look from a certain someone.

‘Gin’ visibly flinched back from the man.

Harry stuck out and arm to stop the packmate in his tracks, as if putting a barrier between them would stop whatever tumultuous emotions were warring through the air. Harry regarded his pack mate sadly, his packmate watched Gin forlornly, and Gin stared at Harry indignantly. It was like some fucked up love triangle, except Harry didn’t want to play, and Draco had somehow been dragged into it.

“Harry,” Gin said again, her voice softer this time, hurt. “Why mark him, and not me?”

“You’d be a  _ terrible mother _ , is why,” Draco sneered.

“Draco!” Harry sounded shocked, and so did the rest of the foyer’s occupants, judging by the resounding silence that followed.

Draco was done with this, done with the drama. He was tired, and hurting, and fucking scared, okay? He looked Gin in the eye and felt the searing words rising within him like lava, whatever truths and lies he could combine into an ambiguous barb that would  _ hurt _ . This is what he was good at.

He felt the confusion slide off him like silk, like suddenly he could think more clearly than he’d been in the past months,  _ years _ .

“Forget the strong offspring — You’re not the kind of woman he’d want to raise a family with anyway,” Draco spat. “You can't protect your own pack, let alone  _ children _ . He’d be settling, and we both know it — You’re  _ unworthy _ .”

“Draco,” Harry repeated, firmly tugging him, and now he was using his imperious voice, the one that must work on his pack.

Draco rolled it off his back like water, like  _ nothing _ . He wasn’t done.

“Familiar with Harry, are you?” Draco asked, voice a falsetto of mock pity. Harry tightened his grip in warning, but Draco didn’t care. Break his bones; he was going to get the last word if it was the last bloody thing he did. “Used to be part of the pack?” Draco bore his teeth viciously. “Did you leave, or did he kick you out? Was he tired of trying to fit you in where you don’t belong?” Draco called.

“Enough-”

“He’d wake up one morning, look at you lying next to him, and he’d realize. All your flaws, your weaknesses. Oh, no, Potter wouldn’t hurt you because he cheated, but because he’ll wake up one day and all the tricks you’ve played, all your conniving ways will become apparent and he’ll take one look at you in your most vulnerable state and  _ stop loving you _ .”

She started crying. Right fucking there. Bawling, eyes screwed shut and fists clenched and all, like she couldn’t face this, couldn’t handle his heat.

“You won’t be able to say a thing, just lying there asleep and he  _ despises you  _ for  _ who you are  _ — I’m not fucking done!”

“Yes,” Harry growled, “you fucking are.”

All of Harry’s pack was forming a barrier between him and her, Gin’s pack surrounding her like a shield, but none of them were moving. It was as if in slow motion, as if everyone was just  _ waiting  _ for everything to fall apart.

Draco didn’t care. He didn’t care if he was making Harry look like a fool, like he couldn’t control his own ‘mate’. He didn’t care if this woman cried. He didn’t care if either packs looked upon him in disdain, if any of them swore vengeance because he refused to keep his mouth shut. Draco didn’t care.

“Pathetic,” Draco called after her as Harry jerked and  _ hauled  _ him. “Look at you!  _ Weak _ !”

“ _ Draco _ ,” Harry repeated as he carried Draco out of the unknown house — mansion, more like — as if Draco would be cowed into submission by the threat in his voice. 

“Christ,” one of Harry’s packmates said, trotting up beside them as they made their way to a large black car parked out front. He had wild brown hair and pale blue eyes, his face long and attractive. More horse-like than wolf-like, if Draco had any say in it. He regarded Draco with a mixture of respect and disturbance. “Didn’t show her any mercy, did you. This is Draco Malfoy?” The last question was directed at Harry.

Harry frowned and quickened his pace. When they reached the vehicle, Harry gingerly placed Draco in the passenger side. As the blond strapped in, he felt more than saw a few of the others staring at the back of his seat as they clambered into the back row. A few others of Harry’s pack seemed to be squeezing into another car.

They didn’t ask anything, however, and Harry didn’t say anything, so Draco remained quiet as the car purred to life. Draco realized offhandedly that this was the first time Harry had driven him anywhere, and with that in mind, he allowed the black at the edges of his vision to consume him. God, was he exhausted.

* * *

“Where the fuck are we?” Draco whined groggily as he felt arms go around him again. He heard the buckle unstrap and felt as large hands maneuvered the seatbelt out from around him. Then he was being lifted, and Draco was a little alarmed at how complacent he was being, but he couldn’t help it. He could barely open his eyes, barely move his limbs. He wondered if Harry knew that, or if he was just being presumptuous. Maybe being selfish.

Harry didn’t lift him like a damsel this time. This time, he shuffled Draco around until he could step between Draco’s legs and lift him like that.

Draco shivered when he felt those broad hands slide over his thighs and beneath the backs of his legs, just below the swells of his behind. When he was hefted into that broad chest, he managed to wrap his arms around Harry’s neck, resting his sweaty forehead against Harry’s shoulder as he wrapped his legs around slim hips.

“We’re just going to patch you up,” Harry murmured to him, holding him tighter than what was probably necessary. It felt a bit like groping, actually, but Harry wasn’t vulgar about it. Just enough that Draco, who knew how selfish Harry could be, would know why he chose to carry Draco like this.

Draco lifted his head and turned it, nosing along Harry’s jaw before finding his ear. “You’re taking advantage,” he accused.

Harry held him tighter, and Draco felt that jaw twitch against his lips.

Draco pressed his forehead back into the crook of Harry’s neck in favor of watching Harry’s packmates watching him back as he was carried like a child into the Waffle House, legs a-swinging. 

As Harry had implied, this was their home base. The owner of the little shop didn’t spare their lot a glance as they made their way down to the basement, despite the blood on some of the group. Said basement was decked out like an apartment. It had a living room and kitchenette, as well as what appeared to be a bedroom.

Draco was carried into said bedroom. Harry nudged the door shut with his hip as he trudged over and placed Draco on the bed.

The room had a smell to it. It wasn’t an  _ odor _ or anything. It wasn’t sweet or fresh or fruity, nothing commonly associated with a good smell, but the scent wasn’t, in fact, a bad one. It was sort of musky, but not a heavy enough musk to be off putting. It was just... it just had a smell to it. Kind of like pine trees, but not fresh or sharp enough. Like outside, sort of. Draco didn’t know how to describe it. The whole basement didn’t smell this way though — he rather felt the basement didn’t have a scent at all — but this room did.

“Is this your room?” Draco asked tiredly. His eyelids felt heavy, but part of him felt it imperative he stay awake until Harry left. He didn’t feel endangered by Harry — he trusted the obsessive man to save his life, after all — but something about this was dangerous. Too intimate, maybe. Harry always came over to his house — it was common ground, but this... this was new, and he wasn’t sure he approved of where this progression was going.

“Yeah,” Harry murmured, leaning over him and brushing Draco’s hair from his face.

Draco hummed at the pleasant sensation, his eyes fluttering before he adamantly forced them back open, no matter how hard it was. He could feel the sweat cooling on his forehead where the hair once as.

“I usually stay here. The others have their own houses, of course, and we hang here a lot, but only I sleep here. My home away from home, so to say.”

That used to be Draco’s house.

“It smells like you,” he said instead, and only realized afterwards that it was true. He couldn’t decide whether Harry had always smelt like this, or if the room had clung to Harry and made him smell that way. Suddenly, however, Draco could acknowledge that the room smelled a hell of a lot better. Just the fact that it was related to Harry, that it reminded him of Harry, made it more appealing.

Harry didn’t say anything to that. He trailed his fingers down Draco’s cheek.

Draco pinned him with a sleepy stare, maybe daring him to do something. Challenging him. “Why am I here?”

Harry sighed, stepping away from him. 

“I’ll ask Hermione to check you over.”

“I don’t know who that is,” Draco told him.

“You can trust her, she’s one of the smartest people I know.”

“How about,” Draco mumbled, bringing his arms up to rest over his eyes, “you don’t tell me who I trust and who I don’t?”

He listened to the silence as it stretched for a moment, and then Harry released a huff.

“You can protect yourself, is that it?” he asked, and he sounded more dry than accusing. “You really hurt Ginny, I think.”

So Ginny was her name.

“I was trying to,” Draco replied, pleased and not bothering to hide it as a vindictive smile cut across his lips.

“How did you know,” Harry murmured, “that we kicked her from the group? How did you know all of that?”

“I’m not blind,” Draco said. “When I came to, she kept going on and on about you, how I was unworthy.” Draco’s smile this time was darker. “Me. Unworthy of you.” He shook his head. “Then your guy showed up, saying her name like  _ that  _ and looking at her  _ like that _ , and she knew what that meant. She looked at him the same way.”

“Said and looked at her like what?” Harry asked, stepping closer to the bed.

“Like you look at me,” Draco told him, staring at him apathetically. Did Harry think he was afraid to say it? To acknowledge it? Not anymore. It didn’t mean anything to him. “I struck where I thought she’d be most tender.”

Harry was staring back at him. “So you were just being mean.”

“I was scared,” Draco snapped, turning away on his side and curling his knees into his chest. “Get out of my face, Potter.”

He heard silence again, a little longer than before, and then the door clicked shut.

 


	7. 7

Draco woke later to the sound of the door opening once more. He stared at the dark ceiling and realized a little embarrassingly that he’d slept for at least four or five hours. So much for a quick nap.

When he looked over, Harry stood nervously in the doorway.

“They, um, are all heading out soon. If you’re sure you don’t need to be checked over...”

Draco blinked at him, drowsiness finally slipping away. “No, I feel fine. Are you driving me home?”

“If you want,” Harry said, “though you could stay the night, too. You don’t have to get up now.”

Draco shook his head as he scooted up into a sitting position and began to rub at his eyes. “No, I slept longer than I intended to already.”

Harry stepped into the room and shut the door behind himself. He flicked on the light as well, and Draco squinted for a moment until his eyes adjusted.

“It might not be safe at your house.”

Draco stared at him, and Harry stared back.

“I wasn’t abducted from my house.”

“I know-“

“You know?”

Harry went red. “I, um, went back to your house, but your parents said you hadn’t been home in hours. So I, uh, sniffed you out with my pack.”

Draco stared down at the hands clasped in his lap. “You got your pack to track me down, because I wasn’t home.”

“Your parents seemed a little confused, is all, because we all know you only run for an hour, not four or five without even contacting them-“

“We _all_ know? What you’re doing is called _stalking_ . You know that, right? You know that this is fucking _weird_?”

Harry set his jaw a little mulishly, but he still looked ashamed, like he couldn’t help himself — like he’d looked after admitting he’d peed on Draco’s lawn. “We rescued you, didn’t we?”

“A rescue which was only necessary because of you in the first place!” Draco yelled.

Harry ducked his head, shoulders coming up around his ears. “I know.” His voice was quiet. “I’m trying to... to make up for my selfishness. I knew the risks, but...”

“But?” Draco snapped.

“I was angry,” Harry murmured, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t look miserable, or even guilty, so much as resigned. “I thought, fuck it, I’ll just confess to you anyway. What are the chances anything will happen? But then, that night, you were kind of nice to me, for once.”

“For once,” Draco echoed, voice incredulous, though a small part of him agreed with that description.

“And then I was worried that something would happen, and you were actually talking to me again, and... I don’t regret it,” Harry finally said, and his face was fierce, as though he refused to take it back. “I’m sorry that my world is intruding on yours, but I’m not even all that sorry about that, honestly.”

“You’re so fucking selfish,” Draco hissed. “What, so you’re getting something out of this, and that’s all that matters?”

“And you’re perfect?” Harry growled. “I offered you something out of this, but you’d rather be an asshole and just play with my feelings, isn’t that right? Lead on the stupid bastard sad enough to like you, and then toss him away again. Isn’t that it?”

Draco turned away from Harry with a snarl twisting of his features, but his superego chimed in agreement. Yes, actually, that’s exactly what he was doing. Because he wanted to, because he could. Because Harry would keep falling for it, and Draco could get drunk off of that power, off of having something Harry wanted so dearly, but couldn’t actually have.

If he looked too deeply into it, it was almost like love. Draco wanted Harry to want him and only him. Why was that? It had to be because of something Draco saw in Harry. Why was Harry's attention so important? Because Harry had all of _Draco’s_ attention, and always would, if Harry so much as glanced back at him. Why? _Why_? Harry had hurt him, yes, but he had hurt Harry back. It was petty, but he had succeeded. Numerous times. Why did he still feel this hot, heady need to take everything Harry could give? Why was he so insecure with himself?

Cold washed over him like ice water, like truth. Did Draco like Harry? Like _that_ ? It was impossible. There was only lust there. That’s all there _could_ be. He was just a kinky bastard, it turned out. _Right_ ? But Draco wasn’t attracted to other guys. He’d never wanted someone to worship him like he did with Harry. He’d never wanted anything like he wanted with Harry. This strange, toxic relationship they shared... Harry claimed to like him, maybe even to love him, but Draco didn’t feel like that. Like he would throw everything away for Harry’s attention. He wanted Harry to come to _him_.

Draco didn’t know. He didn’t know what any of this meant, but he didn’t like the implications, either.

“Maybe I’m just a wretched person,” he said.

“Undoubtedly,” Harry said, but his voice was soft, almost affectionate, though he wasn’t that suicidal. It was a watered-down version, almost amusement, almost candidness. It was the right combination, apparently, because when he approached the bed, Draco didn’t look at him, but didn’t tell him to back off, either. “But,” Harry continued, “so am I.”

Draco snorted before he could stop himself. He could think of several examples of Harry being a selfish, almost-possessive-but-not-overly-so piece of shit (except when he was), but somehow, Draco still thought of Harry was pure. Somehow, someway. Harry wasn’t perfect, but he was a good guy. Mostly.

“Stay the night,” Harry insisted. “I’ll drive you home tomorrow.”

“My parents are home, Potter. Don’t you think they’ll want me home? Or at least wonder where I am?”

“I already called them,” Harry assured.

Draco felt anything but. “How fucking dare you.”

“You were asleep,” Harry insisted, and he sounded unamused and tired. “I just told them you were with me. You can still go home today if you’d like, but I think it’s best to let things settle while you’re here. So your parents won’t be targeted.”

“What if they’re still targeted?”

“Then we’ll help them, of course, but at least you couldn’t blame it on your presence.”

“And if they aren’t targeted at all?”

“Then you’ll be home soon anyway. What can it hurt?”

“I want to go home now,” Draco insisted, but it sounded more like whining than actual protests to his own ears, so it was practically guaranteed that Potter, accustomed to his ways by now, also picked up on it.

“How about we reevaluate tomorrow?” he suggested carefully, fully aware that Draco would throw a fit if he knew (which he did, unbeknownst to Harry) that _Harry_ knew how close we was to simply staying over. “I doubt Ginny has anything nefarious planned, but abductions and the like can still stir things up in our, erm, community. We can just make sure that things are calm before sending you home.”

“I think you just like me in your bed,” Draco snarked before thinking better of it.

“I do,” Harry said, voice quiet. “But, I won’t do anything,” he promised, even quieter. Shame was written across his face so plainly that Draco actually began to wonder how good Harry was at controlling his urges. He seemed so repentant and, in a way, docile, most of the time. But whenever things got even a little hotter, a little sexier, he threw caution to the wind, it seemed. Or, maybe it was that he was actually learning from his mistakes? As much as he claimed to not regret them.

Harry sighed and walked towards the single window in the bedroom. He pulled the blinds shut — being thoughtful, it seemed — as he told Draco to, “Get some rest. I’ll be back to wake you up in the morning so we can discuss again.” Then, he turned and head towards the bedroom door.

“Where are you going?” Draco asked, because this felt weird. He felt guilty, as Potter was somewhat known to evoke in him, but it wasn’t followed by the characteristic anger. No, he felt calm, if not a little dangerous. Kind of like he had when propositioning Potter to let him mark him.

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” Potter told him, as if it were obvious.

“You said you wouldn’t do anything,” Draco said, shrugging with forced nonchalance. “Just sleep here. This bed’s big enough for two guys to share. It’ll be like we’re roommates.”

If anything, Harry looked even more displeased by that idea. “I don’t think so.”

“What if I asked nicely?” Draco offered.

Harry narrowed his eyes. “What are you doing?” he demanded.

Draco didn’t know, but the more adamant Harry looked, the more he wanted the other to succumb.

Harry must have seen something on his face betraying this fact, or smelt it, or something, because then he was propping a knee on the bed as if to crawl closer. He looked more nervous of what Draco would do than his own self control, which Draco found more than a little amusing.

“Why do you keep provoking me like this?”

“You think I’m provocative,” Draco said, pleased with himself.

“You _know_ you are.”

“Well, just keep your hands to yourself and we’ll be fine. You promised you wouldn’t do anything.”

Harry bit his lip, eyeing Draco from beneath his wild fringe. “Just to be clear. What constitutes as doing something?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Don’t make me feel threatened.”

Harry, if possible, looked both indignant and... interested.

“Yeah... yeah, alright. Scoot over.” He turned to shut off the lights and then returned.

Draco raised an eyebrow, but acquiesced. “We’re sleeping? Right now?”

“It’s nearly three. Did you want to stay up and braid each others’ hair?”

Draco scoffed and turned so his back was to Harry. He was even a little annoyed when Harry turned over as well, placing their backs together, instead of staying up to, what, watch him sleep? Draco didn’t know, but whatever if was, he had admittedly expected Harry to be a little more amorous, or to at least attempt something. It seemed he’d taken Draco’s rule to heart (though technically, it had been Harry’s rule, first), and that, if possible, was even hotter. Everything Harry did was somehow incredibly appealing, and Draco was both frustrated sexually and mentally by the strain.

Maybe he did need some sleep. Desperately. Or, a good fuck, but he wasn’t getting _that_ tonight.

* * *

Draco woke, predictably, warm. Harry, as he had promised, kept his hands to himself. It was the fact alone that there was someone else under the covers with him emanating heat that made Draco absolutely shiver with pleasure. He loved warmth, thrived off of it, and Draco, in the darkness of early morning, finally took a breath and looked at himself. It was still pitch black out, and besides, he was beneath the covers. Nothing could get to him, nothing could see or judge him in that moment.

He was gay, at least, partially. Bi, maybe. Because he was willing to literally turn around and cuddle the man behind him, and had absolutely no hesitations about doing so. Well, not because Harry was a man. He just had minor hesitations because it was Harry, and he wasn’t sure if Harry would read into it too much. He probably wouldn’t.

Draco was pleased to acknowledge that they were at a point in their relationship where Draco could downright proposition Harry to fuck, and Harry wouldn’t think Draco loved him, but would accurately come to the conclusion that Draco was just trying to use him selfishly. Maybe Harry didn’t know how genuine Draco was when he teased Harry, when he insinuated the dirty things they could be doing — maybe Harry, though he did know how aroused Draco could become, didn’t know how willing Draco actually was. But, either way, he definitely knew that what they had together was anything but love.

And so Draco didn’t waver too long before turning around and looking at Harry. Harry still had his back to him, but Draco could imagine his face soft with sleep anyway.

Harry was, honestly, beautiful. The dream boy. He had green eyes, for Christ’s sake. Who even _had_ green eyes? Book protagonists, that’s who. And, to go with those, Harry had freckles, and the kind of jaw so sharp it could kill. His eyebrows were thick and dark, his nose straight and just right. Not too small, not too big, but perfect for his square face. And then there was his wild hair, often unkempt, but in the right lighting, it looked like oil, with hues of purple and blue — like raven feathers — and honestly, was this guy even real?

Harry had a nice face, but even without that, he had the sort of muscle tone that would make even a real homely looking guy second-glance worthy.

Draco turned and, after a second, wrapped his arms around Harry, spooning him from behind.

It was shocking how Harry unwound, like a flower opening towards the sun. When Draco touched him, his entire body relaxed — the line of his shoulders softening, the resounding sigh of pleasure that followed. As though he’d been holding back.

Draco slowly, slowly pressed his face between Harry’s shoulder blades, inhaling deeply but slowly, so he wouldn’t be heard. He didn’t think Harry was awake, but he didn’t want to wake him, either. He just wanted to experience this moment, to live and breathe and touch Harry.

And, Christ, was he warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a weird, short chapter. Idk, nothing really happens in this one. The next one is good tho >:-)
> 
> I was really surprised by which sides people have been choosing in this story! I've got comments saying Draco's clearly in the wrong, and comments saying Harry started it, and none of this drama would've happened in the first place if he'd just left Draco alone. Both are valid points I think, but it's just interesting that so many people are picking up on the small things -- I'll be honest, I thought everyone was just going to 100% hate Draco (not _hate_ hate, but just understand he's very flawed in the beginning of this fic), so it's cool to know that some people are like, "Nah, it's more 80% Draco, 20% Harry," etc.


	8. 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *grumbles* we're almost caught up to the chapters I have pre-written. I'm actually gonna have to start working on this seriously again instead of sporadic visits where I add 1 or 2 sentences at a time ahhh

When Draco woke up for the second time, he was still warm. Warm all around, because Harry had turned, and they would be face-to-face if not for the slight curving of both of their bodies. Draco’s forehead was close to Harry’s chest, clad in his white sleepshirt, and Draco could feel Harry’s slow, even breaths on the back of his neck.

One of Harry’s arms was around him, casually slung over his waist, and Draco’s hands had been tucked beneath his chin, his knees slightly drawn upwards. As though he wanted protection.

Harry had morning wood. Draco stared at it, mouth filling with saliva as if on command.

“Settle down,” Harry murmured, voice deep from sleep.

Draco stiffened, face flushing instantly, as though he’d been caught in the act of something.

“What?” he asked, voice indignant. “I didn’t do anything.”

Harry sighed long and hard, as though Draco was disrupting him in some way, and then he shimmied down so they were both at eye-level.

“Is this okay?” he asked, wiping at one of his eyes. 

Draco was very confused. “Is what okay?”

Harry stared at him, expression severe.

Draco felt nervous. “Is what okay?” he repeated.

The hand Harry had slung over his waist patted his back lightly. “This,” he said.

Oh. The touching. “Yes,” Draco said, then added, “I guess.”

“I won’t if you don’t want me to.”

Well, fuck, now he was in a corner, because  _ yes _ , he wanted him to.

“I don’t  _ mind  _ it,” Draco said slowly.

Harry sighed again before rolling on his back and extracting his arm.

Draco sneered a bit before sitting up and making a move to get out of bed.

Fine, if Harry didn’t want to, then neither did he.

But Harry grabbed his arm and pulled. Draco didn’t put up much resistance, and when his back hit the mattress, Harry rolled over and slung his leg over Draco, as well as much of his upper body. He breathed softly against Draco’s neck, over the scarring mark he’d left.

“What do you want from me,” Harry whispered.

“Everything,” Draco replied in a moment of complete, brutal honesty. 

_ I want to take everything you’re willing to give, and even what you aren’t. I want you helpless to me. I want you stuck on me forever. I want to be everything to you, like you’re everything to me. All my thoughts, all my desires, lead back to you, and I want you just as helpless. _

Draco could hear and feel Harry’s head shift, tilted to look up at him.

Draco didn’t meet his eyes, continuing to stare at the ceiling. He swallowed.

He...

He might...

“Why?” Harry asked.

Draco smiled wryly. 

_ Because you hurt me. Because I want the power to hurt you too. _

_ Because I want to be to you, like you are to me. _

He might be in love with Potter.

“Because you make me want it.”

Potter didn’t say anything, but Draco could feel the almost possesive way he scratched his nails against Draco’s shoulder.

“You just give, and give, as though you don’t have anything precious to hide. All of you laid bare before me. How couldn’t I want that? It’s like... It’s like you’re handing me a knife and telling me I can use it on you. Where to hit so it’ll hurt, so you’ll never be the same again, but secretly hoping I won’t.”

“Would you?” Harry asked.

Draco shifted his body so he was on his side as well and reached forward. He watched the journey of his hand, watched as it slid beneath Potter’s shirt, over his stomach. He listened to Potter’s inhale and watched as the warm, dusky skin jumped away from his fingertips for but a moment. And then Potter was leaning forward, putting his own hand over Draco’s and guiding it over his chest. Over his heart.

Draco felt a thrill at how fast Potter’s heart was beating. He wondered if it was a werewolf thing, or if it was Draco.

“Here,” Draco said, pressing his palm into Potter’s chest. “I’d cut you here. I’d rip your heart out — and you’d let me.” He met Potter’s eyes, and Potter’s pupils were blown. Draco felt drunk off of it. All of it. Everything. “Your blood, your warmth, all over me. I’d keep it with me, like a second chance, like a backup plan, and you’d let me. Beating in my palm, everything you are. You’d be helpless.”

Potter leaned in, so close Draco could almost lick him, if he’d wanted.

“I don’t think I’m ready to give you all of me,” Potter told him, voice rough and deep. Everything.

Draco’s smile was cold and his eyes were hot and he felt  _ everything _ . “I don’t think you have a choice.”

Draco wondered if this is what Harry felt when he sensed Draco’s arousal. This heat, this tension. Harry’s practically  _ doubled  _ at his declaration, at his promise, and Draco knew he could ask for anything in that moment.

He reached forward and ran a hand through Potter’s hair. He tugged at it lightly, inky black strands in Draco’s tight fist, and Potter’s lids lowered. Potter’s skin was so hot, like he had a fever.

“Do you have a spare toothbrush?” Draco asked. “I need to get going.”

Harry shut his eyes and inhaled deeply before sort of rolling forward and hiding his face in Draco’s chest.

“Yes,” he mumbled.

* * *

Harry dropped him home around twelve in the afternoon. They’d had breakfast together at the waffle house, and Harry paid. Draco didn’t offer to. He texted Pansy good morning and checked his social medias. Then, she replied;

_ Pans. Still with Potter? _

_ Draco. How did you know? _

_ Pans. Your parents told me. _

Draco stared, confused.

_ Pans. I stopped by yesterday to drop off your bag. You left it at mine yesterday. _

_ Draco. Oh, thanks for dropping that off. _

_ Pans. You’re welcome, but that’s not what I want to hear from you, stupid. _

Draco smiled at the screen.

“Who’s that?” Harry asked, sipping at his coffee. He’d never been one of those guys who were really into social media, and he wasn’t much of a texter either, so he didn’t have his phone out at all. Draco wondered vaguely if he even had a personal email, besides the one he used solely for school. If it weren’t for his interest in video games, Draco highly suspected Harry would be very anti-machine. Unless it was a workout machine.

“Pansy,” Draco told him.

_ Draco. Still working things out. _

He tucked his phone back in his pocket after that. The food was ready, after all.

Harry looked annoyed throughout the rest of the meal, but Draco ignored him. Instead, he focused on the food, and Draco was impressed. He was more of a pancake sort of guy, but the waffles were good enough.

And then, Harry dropped him home. They didn’t say goodbye, Draco just shut the door behind him and didn’t look back. 

When he saw what was waiting for him inside, he wished he did.

“Hello,” said the man. He looked maybe a little older than Draco himself.

“Draco,” his mother greeted, smiling. “Blaise here said you two had a project to work on. I’m surprised you didn’t tell him you wouldn’t be home!”

Draco stared at the stranger with bemusement. “What?”

“Our werewolf project,” the man said. Blaise. He grinned, but it didn’t meet his eyes. “For our Mythology class.”

Werewolf.

“Let’s discuss in my room,” Draco told him, acting casual.

“Draco,” his mother berated. “Is that any way to speak to a guest? He’s been waiting all morning!”

“Sorry, sorry,” he muttered, making his way up the stairs. “Do you want tea or anything?”

The man chuckled. “No, thank you, Mrs. Malfoy.”

Draco rolled his eyes. When they made it to his bedroom, however, he felt a lot less calm. “Alright, spill,” he demanded. “What do you want.”

Blaise grinned at him. “Ginevra.”

Draco blinked. “What’s that?”

The man sneered at him. “Ginevra. Otherwise known as Ginny, to friends. The wolf that-”

“Yes, yes, I know now,” Draco interrupted. “I can’t help you with her.” And how had he found Draco’s house?

“Oh, but you can,” Blaise assured, reclining against Draco’s desk chair like he owned the place. “The only thing Ginevra wants more than that bloody  _ Potter _ ,” he spat the name, “is you. And the only thing  _ you _ want more than Potter, is me.”

Draco frowned. “I don’t follow.”

Blaise smirked at him.

Draco stared back.

Blaise frowned.

“I’m confused,” Draco repeated. Maybe the bloke wasn’t from around here — didn’t know what his previous lament had meant.

“My pheromones aren’t working on you.” He stalked forward. “Do you feel anything right now?”

Draco leaned back, slightly alarmed. “Other than uncomfortable?”

Blaise cocked his head, expression unreadable, and in that moment, looking into those blank eyes, he looked more animal than anything. “Interesting,” he said simply.

“You’re a wolf too,” Draco said more than asked.

Blaise cracked a grin. “What gave it away? My astounding good looks, or my charm?”

Draco cracked a smirk despite himself, even if it was a little weary. “Look, um, Blaise. I don’t  _ not  _ want to help you, necessarily, but I don’t understand how or why you need my help.”

Blaise sighed. “Look, mate. I want Ginevra, but she won’t come to me willingly, and there’s no way I can go to her without my bollocks being cut off before I can say, ‘Courting?’. I figured, since she hates you, if I tell her I have you, she’ll come.”

Draco felt nervous. “So... you’re going to hold me hostage.”

Blaise made a face. “I’m not an  _ actual  _ animal. We’re just going to  _ pretend  _ I’m holding you hostage.”

Draco pressed his hand to his temple, shaking his head slowly. “There are...  _ so  _ many things wrong with this plan. For one, Ginevra held  _ me _ hostage, so your little girlfriend  _ is  _ an animal.”

Blaise got a goofy sort of grin on his face. “I like the sound of that. My little girlfriend.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Second of all, Harry’s not going to go for that. He’ll kill you.”

Blaise got a cagy look around him, then. “So Potter’s as strong as the rumors say? It’s ridiculous. He’s probably the youngest of us, yet I hear he has the blood of a long, powerful line in his veins.”

Draco didn’t know. “He does,” he said, anyway.

“Well,” Blaise huffed. “The plan was to get you hooked on my scent so you’d ditch Potter and willingly do my bidding, but since you’re rather...  _ immune _ ...” He kept looking at Draco oddly, and the blond wondered if he  _ shouldn’t  _ be immune, if he was in the minority.

“My nose is stuffed up,” he lied. “Couldn’t smell your, erm, pheromones if I tried. I’m getting over a cold.”

He wasn’t sure if Blaise believed him, but he went on. “So, you’ll just have to tell Potter we’re friends,  _ then  _ willingly pretend you’re my captive so I can get Ginevra in my domain.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Because we’re friends,” Blaise declared. “I  _ just  _ said that.”

Draco sighed. “Why would Ginny date you just because you have me captive? She’s going to want to kill me, is what.”

Blaise shrugged. “I’ll have you apologize to her, or something-”

“For  _ abducting  _ me?”

“-and woo her with my charm and impressive territory. My pack is pretty well known as well. Slytherin? I’m sure you’ve heard of it.”

Draco blinked. The packs had names?

“I’m rather uniformed on things like that, I’m afraid.”

Blaise shrugged. “No harm. Is it a deal?”

Draco frowned. “How did you find my house, Blaise?”

“You’ve Potter’s mark,” Blaise said easily. “He’s powerful. I could track you from a mile away — if I hadn’t known Potter had a mate, I’d have mistaken it for him and kept far, far away. But, since I’ve heard rumors through the grapevine...”

“So you’re technically in his territory, right now,” Draco clarified.

“If I die tomorrow, know it’s because you haven’t helped me today,” Blaise replied, confirming in his own manipulative way.

Draco was  _ extremely  _ tired of all this werewolf bullshit.

“Fine, fine. Give me your number and address, and we’ll discuss this more. I’ll meet you in your territory next time, after I’ve spoken to Harry about it. I don’t want anyone getting hurt...”

Blaise placed a hand over his heart. “Is this what friendship is like? I’ve never had someone put me first, before!”

Draco made a face. “Get out of my house. Please.”

Draco wasn’t sure how he actually felt about any of this, if he even wanted to help. But, despite Blaise coming off as...  _ strange _ , Draco didn’t actually fear him, any. Maybe he would look into it, at least a little bit...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you like this chapter! It's one of my favorites idk


	9. 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't get much reaction from the last chapter haha. Hope you guys are sticking in there! I think we're coming closer to the end, so get ready for a taaaad bit more drama

Draco had wanted to go see Potter and Pals **™** the next afternoon, but college isn't like in the TV shows. He was way behind on some of his work, and just last week he’d been well-ahead of the game. Things changed quickly. Just because attendance didn’t affect his grade, skipping class and not doing the homework and projects  _ would _ . Technically, it had been abduction more so than skipping, but he didn’t think getting the police involved would help him, any. If he felt threatened, maybe, but despite everything, Draco didn’t feel very alarmed.

He’d never been a panicky child. He’d always enjoyed horror movies and haunted houses as well — Draco didn’t scare easily. After waking up in that basement, yeah, he’d been pretty freaked out. However, after becoming angry, he’d shed that skin and stepped into another. He’d gone from terrified, to pissed. It had felt liberating, in fact, like he could hear and see clearly again.

Draco had so very many questions, now that he’d had a little while to digest everything. How had Ginny found out about Draco? Who was going around snitching about him and Harry? Blaise had said something about the mark masking Draco’s scent completely, so unless others knew Harry had a ‘mate’, then they would be none the wiser. They should have thought it was  _ Harry  _ going for a jog that morning.

What were pheromones, exactly, and why was Draco apparently immune to them? Were only werewolves affected? Speaking of which; what had Blaise meant about Potter having strong blood in him? He was pretty sure Ginevra had been going on about something similar. When had Harry even become a werewolf? How had he known?

Questions, questions, questions.

However, Draco had homework questions to get to. He went to his classes, met up with Pansy for lunch (she playfully demanded details, playing the best-friend role, but he knew she was probably still a bit sensitive on the topic of him and Harry, so he glossed over, well, almost everything, saying they studied), then went straight home. He ended up spending the entire afternoon finishing up old work, starting new work, and creating a schedule for the next couple weeks that would keep him relatively stress-free, as long as he followed it. Next thing he knew, it was 7 o’clock, and though it wasn’t  _ too  _ late to visit the coffee house — it closed at 9, he was pretty sure — he felt wary about going out at dark. He didn’t want to get attacked again, or worse, have Harry show up to chastise him for being stupid or careless or whatever else.

So, Draco waited until the next day. He had one morning class from 8am-9am, and was free for the remainder of the day. Even though he was only on campus for all of about 20 minutes before and after class, he hadn’t seen Harry at all. Draco wondered vaguely how Harry kept his grades up, skipping class so frequently, and decided to add that to his list of questions.

Draco drove down to the waffle house. Inside, he was assaulted with the familiar scent of vanilla and sausages, but he bypassed the café completely and instead approached the stairway to downstairs. Draco didn’t see anyone paying him much mind, so he descended. He rapped on the door, hoping Harry was there if he wasn’t at school. He hadn’t considered calling beforehand, and in retrospect, that had been presumptuous of him.

The door did open, but it wasn’t to reveal Harry. Instead, there stood a man; tall, dark, and handsome. He had long dreads tied back loosely with what looked like a scarf. The ends of his hair were a caramel color, the roots black. Some of the dreads had golden rings and other such jewelry tied into them. What really caught Draco’s attention, however, were his eyes — a bright, golden color.

Draco realized it must be a werewolf thing. Harry had golden flecks in his eyes as well, and sometimes Draco could swear it was an entire ring of gold around in the green in his eyes. He wondered in the intensity of the color changed, as that would explain why sometimes Harry looked normal, and sometimes he looked... a little wild.

“Harry’s mate,” said the man.

“I’m Draco,” Draco corrected him. “Draco Malfoy. Is Harry home?”

The man smirked at him, propping his hip against the doorframe and crossing his arms. “You didn’t come to see me?” he asked, sounding hurt. His smile showed he was teasing. It was rather eerie nonetheless, considering his ridiculously sharp canines. “We’re all dying to get to know the one Harry’s so smitten with.”

Draco felt a small part of him shrivel up at the mere idea of that — of showing these people how terrible he was to Harry. Harry was their friend, after all.

He wondered if this guy had noticed, and was hinting at something. He couldn’t tell. That smile was guileless, but his eyes were sharp. But, that could just be a werewolf thing, too. Draco didn’t know him well enough to really read him.

“That depends,” Draco replied eventually. “What’s your name?”

The man blinked. “Harry hasn’t told you about us?”

Draco felt bad for him. “A little, but I don't remember everyone’s names,” he lied.

“Dean Thomas,” he introduced, holding out a hand.

Draco took it, and they shook.

“Come in,” Dean beckoned. “Let’s introduce you to everyone officially. We’ll keep you company until Harry returns, hm?”

Draco nodded, walking into the small apartment. The silence sounded strange when Dean finally shut the door, but as they continued to the living room area, Draco heard the low murmur of discussion through the walls commonly associated with a home well lived-in.

“Everyone,” Dean announced, and Draco felt a little nervous when all eyes went on him. “This is Draco Malfoy, Harry’s mate.”

“We’re not labelling our relationship,” Draco had to blurt out, just in case Potter came back and asked Draco just what he thought he was doing, lying to his pack like that. It wasn’t necessarily that Draco thought Harry would be angry at him for calling himself Harry’s mate, so much as Harry would feel cheated since he wasn’t actually receiving any mate benefits.

He and Harry weren’t really mates, but he didn’t know what else to call them, or if Harry’s pack would accept anything else. Harry had gotten them all together to track him down and rescue him, after all. Would they be annoyed to find out he and Harry weren’t even really mates? Just one guy trying to fuck, and another trying to do the same, but with  _ feelings  _ involved?

“Hermione Granger,” introduced one of the women. Draco shook her hand, marveling at her curly hair. Did everyone here have great hair but Harry? It was sad, and punny. Harry with the bad hair. Also, he could kind of remember Harry saying she was good with first-aid, or something. Wasn’t she the one he’d suggested look Draco over after they got back that night?

“Pleasure,” he said, then moved on to the next one, who was a sandy-haired, freckled-face fellow. “Hi,” he said.

“Hey,” was the reply. This bloke had an accent. “Seamus Finnegan.”

“Nice to meet you,” said the next girl, her features soft. “Lavender Brown.”

“And you as well,” Draco replied, inwardly noting how small her hands were. Her nails were short and unpainted, the only difference between her and Pansy’s strong grips. She also had long, curly hair, but it was a sandy blonde as opposed to Hermione’s almost auburn hair. “Hello,” he continued.

“Parvati Patil,” replied the woman, her eyes outlined with thick eyeliner. She looked dangerous. In a good way.

“I’m Neville,” said the last bloke, his smile wide. Draco recognized him as the blue-eyed man who’d spoken to him before, on their way back from Ginevra’s mansion. He’d also been the one staring longingly after her.

“Neville,” Draco repeated, tasting the name on his tongue.

“Longbottom,” Neville continued with what Draco hoped was his last name, and not some sort of codeword. 

“You’re being nice to me,” Draco said more than asked.

Neville frowned. “Should I not be?”

“I kind of tore into your girlfriend,” he said, stopping himself from adding a ‘sorry’ at the end. He didn’t need to apologize, dammit. She’d abducted him and tied him up in her basement like some sort of psychopath. He genuinely hadn’t been in the wrong, that time.

Neville sighed, running a hand through his hair and leaning back on the sofa. He was seated next to Padma and Lavender, Hermione and Seamus on a loveseat off to the side, and an empty rocking-chair was planted by the TV.

“She’s a little bonkers,” Neville told him bluntly, “but we grew up together.”

“It’s an acquired taste,” drawled Parvati.

Neville frowned at her.

“What she did to you was wrong,” Hermione added from the other side of the room, and when Draco turned to face her, her expression was disapproving. “Very wrong,” she repeated. “But Ginny’s not a bad person,” Hermione tried to assure him. “She’s going through some stuff right now-”

“Heartbreak?” Parvati snorted.

“-and she’s going about it  _ all  _ the wrong way,” Hermione growled, “but. She’s not a bad person. Hopefully she can prove herself to you in time.”

Draco shrugged, pretending it didn’t matter. It did. He didn’t like going out alone anymore. But what they were saying sounded so applicable to himself, yet they were so understanding of Ginevra. He kind of respected it — their friendship. He didn’t know these people, and he didn’t need to like these people, but he kind of did like the idea of them sort of understanding him.

“I’m not trying to question your interest in her,” Draco explained to Neville. “I’m sure she’s... nice.”

Neville barked out a laugh. “She’s not,” he said, “but she’s not usually so insane either.”

“And you love her?”

Neville got that familiar look on his face — the soft smile, the warm eyes. “Yeah,” he said. “I love her.”

Draco nodded. "Okay,” he said simply.

* * *

Lavender, Dean, Seamus, and Neville were in the living room playing Monopoly, while Parvati and Hermione tried to explain lycanthropy to him.

“But why doesn’t it seem to work on me?” Draco pressed.

“Pheromones are heavily fear-based,” Hermione explained. “If you’re a little scared, you’ll feel it a little. If you’re not scared at all, you won’t feel it whatsoever.”

“The game is to make your prey scared, douse ‘em in predatory pheromones which will, in turn, make them even  _ more  _ scared, and then continue the cycle,” Parvati expanded. “You might not be getting as scared as they’re predicting you’ll get, which is why their pheromones aren’t ‘working’ on you.”

“On the fear-scale, you might be a 3/10,” Hermione continued, “but since they’re expecting a 5/10, they’re not producing enough to really affect you. Instead of scaring you 7 more points, they’re only producing enough to scare you 5 more points, and since it’s not enough to terrify you completely, the pheromones don’t work at all. It’s an all-or-nothing sort of deal.”

Draco nodded. “I... think I get it. Can pheromones be used for anything other than fear?”

“Of course,” Parvati scoffed, and Hermione sent her a warning glance.

“He wouldn’t know these things,” Hermione argued for him.

“It’s fine,” Draco told them, shrugging again. “I’m just curious. This is all so fascinating. Stupid, but fascinating.”

Parvati smirked, and Hermione turned her frown to him.

“It’s not  _ stupid _ ,” she argued.

Draco and Parvati paid her chastisement no mind.

“Pheromones can get you sexually worked up,” Parvati said, “or angry. Anything, really. Even you produce them; werewolves are just better at producing more.”

“Do pheromones make me feel something I wouldn’t normally, or they just-”

“They just  _ enhance  _ what you’re already feeling,” Hermione finished for him, nodding along to show she knew where he was going.

“This is so... interesting,” Draco told her. “I hope I’m not bothering you too much with all my questions.”

Hermione’s smile seemed flattered. “Draco, questions are good! In fact, I hate it when people  _ don’t  _ ask questions. It just causes-”

“Confusion and miscommunication,” Draco said, scowling. “Especially in-”

“ _ Especially  _ in books and TV shows,” Hermione agreed, vehement.

“Do you two want some alone time, or...?” Parvati asked, though she seemed engrossed enough in her phone to not really care.

“Hey,” Dean called from the other room, “Harry’s home.”

“Um, yeah,” Draco heard Harry’s muffled reply through the walls. He sounded confused. 

They probably didn’t normally go around announcing when he returned. Dean had done it for Draco’s sake, embarrassingly enough.

There was a pause, and then, “Draco’s here?”

Draco felt doubly embarrassed. Had Dean told him, or had Harry... smelt him, or something? He hoped he didn’t smell  _ bad _ .

Harry poked his head in the doorway, a confused smile on his face. “Hi?”

“Hello,” Draco replied

“Hey, Harry,” said Hermione.

Parvati just nodded at him.

“Am I... intruding?” Harry asked.

“I had a couple question to ask you, actually,” Draco said, and as if on cue, Parvati and Hermione got off the bed. They’d just been speaking in Harry’s room since it was the only room that could be closed-off by a door (and the other four were getting pretty loud with their game). They hadn’t been lying on it or anything; they’d just been sitting on the very edge of it, sort of perched there since there were no desk chairs lying around.

“Oh,” Harry said, “alright.”

He stepped aside so the girls could get through, and Hermione patted him on the shoulder as she walked out.

Harry seemed startled by it, staring after her for a moment before shutting the door behind himself and entering the room fully. He sat on the bed beside Draco and turned his body so they could face each other.

“What was that about?” Draco asked nosily.

Harry didn’t seem to mind the probing. “She likes you, I guess,” Harry admitted to him.

“Oh,” Draco said, then, “I like her too. I wish my hair curled like that.” He looked at Harry, then reached up to run a hand through Harry’s hair. “You should take some tips from her — your hair could be  _ gorgeous  _ if you just put some effort into it.” Harry had curly-ish hair too (more wavy, more wild) but it was always so haphazard, like he just ran his fingers through it before leaving the house.

Harry grabbed Draco’s wrist, stopping the petting.

They stared at each other, and Harry squeezed Draco’s wrist before releasing it.

Draco didn’t know why he suddenly felt like kissing him. It hit him like lightning, like all at once the most prevalent thing in his mind was getting their mouths to connect.

“I don’t know how I feel about you cozying up to my pack,” Harry told him.

Draco blinked, caught off guard a bit, and tried to get his thoughts in order. “I’m not ‘cozying up’. I came here looking for you, but they all wanted to introduce themselves.”

Harry sighed, leaning back on one arm and using the other to run through his hair. Draco’s fingers twitched, remembering how it felt to do that with his own hand, but refrained from reaching out again.

“Dean seemed put out when he thought I didn’t know of him, so I had to act interested in  _ getting  _ to know him,” Draco continued explaining, “or they’d never have let me in. I don’t need them to like me, necessarily, or to like them, either; it just happened that way. They’re good people.”

Harry exhaled heavily. “That’s good,” he said. “I just. It feels cruel. To lead them on. Like, you don’t bring every girlfriend home to meet your parents, you know? But that’s... kind of what this feels like. Introducing you to my family.”

Draco had many reactions to that — annoyance, shame, pride that he and Harry both thought of similar analogies. He settled on agreement.

“I told them we weren’t calling ourselves mates, or whatever.” He felt embarrassed to say ‘mates’ out loud, for some reason.

Harry shook his head, his fringe falling into his face. Draco didn’t know why he noticed — he was just very conscious of Harry’s hair, today.

“They won’t understand why I marked you if we aren’t mates, so they’ll probably keep calling us that.” He didn’t sound too sorry.

“I don’t think  _ anyone  _ understands why you marked me,” Draco quipped.

Harry groaned. “Are we ever going to get past this? I didn’t think it would be such a big deal, alright? I thought; who cares? You won’t notice any difference, only I’ll know what the mark means. It was my way of bringing you into my world without physically doing so, I guess, but then my pack found out, and I realized it was only a matter of time until news spread. I didn't... I didn’t really think it through.”

Draco rolled his eyes to hide that he was caring less and less about the mark. He didn’t like being abducted, of course, but this was... fascinating. Werewolves existed, apparently. Or, at least, a community of crazies who believed they did, and were somehow convincing Draco of that as well.

And, though he’d never say it out loud, he liked hanging out with Harry again. He didn’t even mind that Harry was in love with him, and actively trying to fuck, either. Because he felt similarly in the sexual area — if it weren’t for Harry, he wouldn’t have even known he  _ could  _ be this into a guy. That he could want to do these things with a guy. 

Draco wouldn’t say he loved Harry back, but he wouldn’t oppose to a relationship of some sort. A fuck-buddy relationship. And maybe they could go on casual dates; to the movies, to amusement parks. He liked spending time with Harry. Sometimes. It sounded pretty nice — a fuck-buddy relationship with a few dates here and there, that spanned a few months, maybe. Years. He could see Harry being in his life for years.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” Harry asked, finally.

“Oh,” Draco said again. His mind was all over the place. “What did Ginevra mean when she was going on about your blood, and strength?”

Harry avoided his eyes. “I don’t know, Draco. She’s crazy.”

Draco frowned. Why was Harry lying to him?

“But she was in your pack. She must’ve said at one point.”

Harry shrugged. “Dunno.”

“I can just ask Dean-”

“They won’t tell you anything,” Harry said, and then went red.

“I knew it. You’re a rat-assed  _ liar _ .”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Draco, it literally doesn’t matter. Why are you so single-minded? Just drop it, okay? I don’t want to talk about it.”

Draco paused, considering. “Fine,” he said.

“Fine,” Harry echoed, looking at him as though searching for some sort of loophole.

“Tell me about your first transformation,” Draco asked instead. If he couldn’t ask about Harry’s ‘strong’ werewolf blood, then maybe he could get some ideas himself from hearing about Harry as a wolf.

Harry was starting to look annoyed now, which Draco hadn’t intended. It came as more of a pleasant addition to his genuine inquiries.

“No,” Harry said firmly. “Did one of them say something to you? Why are you interested in the two things...”

“So you don’t want to talk about them for the same reason,” Draco asked, curiosity eating at him.

Harry bit at his lip for a moment before conceding, “They were both... fairly traumatic for me. I don’t want to talk about it.”

Draco nodded. “Fine,” he said again. He knew someone who would tell him  _ whatever he wanted  _ about Harry’s strong bloodline, after all. Speaking of which; “How do you feel about me helping out another pack?”

Harry’s expression darkened. “What?”

Draco explained the situation.

Harry was scowling and shaking his head by the end of it. “Absolutely not.”

Though Draco didn’t  _ really  _ care, he was also kind of annoyed by that response. “Why not?” he asked.

“Because it sounds sketchy as hell, Draco!” He wasn’t wrong. “I don’t know Zabini well, and I don’t know much about the Slytherin pack except that they’re  _ known for being conniving _ . I wouldn’t trust anything he says.” Then, he seemed to notice Draco’s expression. “ _ If _ you’re willing to trust me this time when I ‘tell you who to trust’.” He rolled his eyes again.

Draco wasn’t liking this attitude, but he supposed he didn’t really have any reason to disobey. He could always calls Blaise over the phone, after all. He was sure they could come up with another plan; Have Harry start a rumor that Draco’s been abducted again, then have Blaise take the credit for it. That way, Draco will never  _ actually _ have to leave the comfort of his own home, and when Ginevra gets to Blaise, he can try and woo her before acting surprised after the date to discover that Draco somehow escaped. Draco didn’t know — he’d work on it. Some sort of alternative plan.

He didn’t even know why he wanted to help Blaise, after all.

Oh, wait. Yes he did.

Partially because Blaise didn’t scare him and he wanted to exude that by treating him as an equal, partially because Harry was explicitly telling him not to, and partially because Blaise would tell him things Harry wouldn’t. If it was woo scarring for Harry, fine. He’d find the information out some other way.

But, whatever. He would still try and work other angles, that way he wouldn’t be needlessly putting himself in danger. After all, Ginevra didn’t necessarily scare him either, but he’d still  _ been scared _ . Just because Blaise didn’t scare him didn’t make him any less dangerous.

“Okay,” Draco said.

Harry looked alarmed. “Is something going on? Why are you acting so... submissive?” he asked.

It was Draco’s turn to roll his eyes. “I’m not  _ always  _ a spiteful little shit, okay? I can be  _ compliant _ ,” he corrected, “from time to time. You not wanting to talk about something in general is different from you not wanting to talk about it with  _ me _ , specifically. If it’s traumatic for you, I’ll leave it alone. As for Blaise, I agree. I don’t want to endanger myself for some guy I don’t even know.”

Harry smiled slowly, looking cheeky. “I think I like this. You not fighting me on every decision.”

Draco tapped his nails on his thigh, feeling restless. “I disagree. We both have too much — what’s the word —  passion. We both have too much passion  to just  agree  to things. I don’t want to be told something, I want you to  _ convince  _ me. Also, anger is rather fetching on you. Not that that’s why I do it, I mostly just like to make you go wild, but you do make fury look good.”

Harry stared at him.

“Like,” Draco continued, licking his lips, “you could probably murder me, but it’d be hot. You know?”

Harry shut his eyes and leaned forward, resting his forehead on Draco’s shoulder.

Draco let him.

“You’re fucked up,” Harry told him.

“I concur, but you’re no better,” Draco told him. “You’re fucked in the head, Harry. Absolutely ruined.”

Harry just hummed, inhaling deeply from Draco’s shoulder.

“You’re so fucked, I’m surprised you can walk straight,” Draco continued. Just because. “You’re so fucked, you can probably feel it in the morning when you wake up.”

“Stop talking about fucking,” Harry said.

“See, I’ve met my sympathy-limit today.”

Harry shoved him with a laugh. “You’re so fucking  _ annoying _ !”

“There you go, talking about fucking again.” Draco rolled his eyes dramatically. “Sex-obsessed,” he insisted. "A sex-obsessed psycho."

Harry groaned and laid back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling.

Draco scooted closer and leaned forward so he could look down at the supposed werewolf, smirking.

Harry met his eyes before shutting them and sighing. “You don’t even know the half of it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys liked this one!  
>  **random audience member: sO IS HARRY EVER GONNA ACTUALLY TRANSFOM, OR???  
>  me, sweating profusely: um**


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